A/N: Alright, this chapter is a bit gruesome near the start. I gave you guys a warning before, but here's another... this chapter is not kind to our characters at all.

For anyone who may be getting tired of the brutality of this story, don't worry, it WILL get better soon! This story will have plenty of lighthearted moments, it just so happens that the beginning arcs of the story involve lots of violence and injury. Well, not just the beginning, it gets spread throughout the story a lot too. Potter will be getting a bit of a break from all the injury in some chapters soon, I figure he deserves it at this point.

As always, thanks for reading, and enjoy the chapter!

Xx~xX

The crack of apparition churned his stomach, and the sudden dizziness threw him to the ground. Even before he could see straight, he could feel rough, jagged stone scraping his palms and the sting of pain it brought. When his head stopped spinning, he saw only black stone in front of him.

Rising to his feet and gently rubbing the flecks of stone from his hands, he twisted around, staring widely at his surroundings.

Everything was made of the same jagged black stone, void of all life save for Regulus and himself. The air itself was sweltering, hot to the point of drawing beads of sweat from his arms and forehead after just a few seconds. Only a few meters away was a cliff, dropping off into the ocean, although the cliff was only a few feet high. The ocean was like a savage beast, frothing white and violently throwing itself against the earth in waves taller than Regulus' head.

He had never seen a place so hostile before.

"Boy!" Regulus shouted, his voice barely audible over the crashing of waves and the howling of the wind.

We must be in the middle of a storm, he thought. For a moment he stood, mesmerized by the sheer force of the ocean, the winds and the heat of the air... it was as if nature was at war with itself. But slowly, he pried his attention away from the violence of the world around him, and back to the man who had raised him.

"The book, boy!" Regulus shouted again.

Can't.

AhaHaA

He shook his head, trying to physically push the Notebook's voice out of his mind.

"Take it!" He shouted back.

Merlin, was the wind getting stronger?

He called the Notebook out from his wrist, trying his best to ignore the way it made him want to curl up and vomit. When it was at last in his hand (had it taken longer than normal?) he tried to walk towards Regulus...

Twitch.

...only for his legs to lock in place.

Regulus narrowed his eyes, a deep scowl settling across his face. The man quickly made up his mind and crossed the rest of the distance between them, before snatching the Notebook out of his hand.

The sudden distance from it hit him like a physical blow. The wind left his lungs and his legs turned to jelly, collapsing underneath him. His knees hit the stone followed soon after by his already scraped hands.

Regulus was already walking away, gaze intent on the book. He kept walking until he was a good twenty, and then thirty meters away, stopping in the middle of a large ring of smooth black stone. It was clearly the same stone as the rest of this place, but looked like it had been... melted, at some point in the past.

Can't.

This time, the Notebook didn't sound as confident.

Regulus drew his wand, a short, snappish movement with little extravagance.

Shouldn't.

"Fiendfyre!" Regulus' voice was twisted by the wind, distorted into something terrible.

From the tip of his wand, the fiendfyre wyvern made it's appearance. It screamed forth in a grand arc, not gliding but exploding into the air with the savage eagerness of a demon.

Don't!

Fear like nothing he had ever experienced before raced through him, from his tattoo up into his chest and out into his heart and mind. Every thought left his head, consumed only by a wild, foreign instinct.

Stop! RuN! DoN't!

Even the Notebook's own voice was drowned out by the presence of that primitive fear.

Fire.

He ran. His legs, suddenly freed, burned both from the blistering heat of the air and the straining of his muscles. Fast, faster than he had ever thought himself capable of, his breathing became ragged in seconds, spurred on by a nudge from inside his wrist. His entire body screamed, telling him to run away, away from the fire, but something pulled him towards it instead.

The Notebook. Have to get it out, get it away...

He was nearly at Regulus' back when the man simply tossed the Notebook into the air.

Potter watched helplessly as the fiendfyre wyvern caught it between glowing jaws.

Then, everything turned red.

His left arm burned. A pain beyond anything he could ever have imagined. He dropped to the ground, mouth open in a scream that came out only as a wheeze, carried away by the wind.

Fire! Burning, burning!

Inside his mind, him and the Notebook screamed together. He could feel it's pain, just like his own. Feel the fire across the leather of his skin... no, the leather of the Notebook's cover, not his skin...

Regulus watched the sky, oblivious to the boy on the ground behind him.

Burnt. Burning.

Run!

Potter clutched his forearm, feeling the heat coming off it as it began to smoke. He stopped breathing, his lungs choking and sputtering, unable to draw air. The burning spread through his arm, slowly creeping away from the tattoo...

He rolled on the ground, his arms and legs wracked by spasms.

Merlin it hurts please no...

He gasped in a single wretched breath that seared his lungs with heat. He felt as if he were burning from the inside out.

Through it all, he was finally able to form a single, coherent thought.

Please.

A silent cry for help. For mercy.

Please let it end.

The wyvern roared, still ravaging the Notebook, seeming almost frustrated. It gnashed its teeth together, ripping, tearing into the Notebook, into his skin.

His cover began to peel, and his eyes rolled back into his head.

Please let it end.

The Notebook still screamed, louder than ever, in the back of his mind.

Regulus, please...

"Boy, just what... Potter?"

Faintly, he heard Regulus' words, as if he were listening from underwater.

Everything feels so far away (please let it end please let it end).

"...Potter!"

As Regulus' shout reached his ears, the fiendfyre above flickered and died out, a small, smoking black shape dropping from the sky to the earth.

The burning went away, from the Notebook and from his arm, but the pain did not. It lessened, and his eyes rolled back until he could see, but he still shook and convulsed under the horrible pain.

"Potter!" Regulus yelled again.

When he managed to focus his eyes, he saw through thick tears the form of Regulus, kneeling over top of him.

He let go of his own left wrist, which shook violently, still burning to the touch.

In a near perfect circle around his tattoo, the skin was blackened to a crisp. In another circle around that, it was a brilliant shade of red, and his skin bubbled and dripped...

Potter threw up on the ground the moment he saw it. Even Regulus had turned a nasty shade of green.

(Burning, burning!)

He ignored the distant screams of the Notebook.

"Potter, what..." Regulus practically whispered, barely heard over the winds.

Funny, he normally doesn't even say my name...

Regulus stared at the burn, a mixture of emotions on his face that Potter had never seen before. When the man raised a hand towards the burn, his fingers trembled slightly, his jaw hanging open ever so slightly in shock.

"How?"

Potter shook his head.

I don't know.

Regulus rose quickly, drawing his hand back under his cloak. He set his jaw, although his normal, impassive expression eluded him. The black haired man threw out his wand hand, and summoned the Notebook to him from where it lay in the middle of the circle.

The black leather cover was singed horribly. It peeled and curled, charred to a crisp and crumbling into ash in patches.

(He could hear it scream, hear its cries, feel its pain-)

"Just what did you do?" He managed to focus his eyes again. Regulus held the book in hand, shock, horror and... worry?... on his face.

Regulus gingerly opened the cover, flipping through the pages... pages that were still intact.

"How? The fiendfyre shouldn't have even left ashes behind."

Can't.

The Notebook's voice was faint and filled with agony.

"Regulus," Potter managed to croak out.

The instant he heard the boy speak, Regulus snapped the book shut and dropped it.

"We have time to ask questions later," he said. "For now... you need a healer a lot more skilled than I am."

"The Notebook-"

"Forget about it," Regulus snapped, although there was a certain gentleness to his voice. "We'll worry about it later... it seems there isn't much we can do at the moment."

Before Potter could so much as complain, Regulus had picked him up, careful not to disturb his arm. He summoned the Notebook wordlessly, tucking it inside his cloak with nothing more than a subtle twist of his wand.

Then, with another loud crack, they were gone.

Xx~xX

Draco's first thought was that his shoulder hurt. He groaned, before cutting the noise off short. It had sounded too much like a whine, and Malfoys did not whine.

He cracked his eyes open, then immediately closed them again.

Merlin it was bright.

As he slowly let his eyes adjust to the sudden sunlight, he stretched his back as best he could. Soft silk sheets shifted underneath him, and pajamas of a similar material glided over his skin.

Where...?

The white walls, accented in black trim came into focus, as well as the four poster bed he was laying in.

My bedroom, he answered for himself. But why?

In a flash, it all came back to him. The broom ride, his stunts, his mother... then finally, his crash, and Dobby arriving.

Then, just blackness.

He pushed himself up to a sitting position, rolling his shoulder around in its socket. It popped and he winced slightly, but the ache was fading quickly.

He tried to stand, and he made it as far as pushing himself up onto the cold, hardwood floor before a sudden wave of dizziness dropped him back into bed.

He lay there a moment, breathing deep, letting the dizziness pass.

How hard, and how many times had he hit his head?

At least he didn't seem too confused. Or was it impossible to tell if you were confused? Maybe he was, but because he was, he thought he was fine?

His stomach rumbled, so loud it echoed in his too-large bedroom.

Blast it, who cares if I'm confused.

He forced himself to his feet, gritting his teeth as another wave of dizziness threatened to knock him back into bed.

Somehow, he managed to stumble his way across the room, towards a small, round table and a single chair near the corner. They were just in front of a window, a massive one, not of stained glass like most of the manor's windows, but clear and offering a perfect view of the sky.

It was the only place in his room he actually liked.

He plopped himself down in the chair, out of habit keeping himself straightened, his posture near perfect. He had learned proper etiquette, of course. He was a Malfoy, after all.

All of three seconds later, he slumped back in the chair until he more closely resembled a rag doll, rather than the scion of a noble house.

Once noble, at least.

All well. After what it took for me to just get over here, I think a proper break from 'etiquette' is in order.

"Dobby!" He shouted, letting himself sink lazily into his favourite chair.

With a small pop, the tiny, floppy eared servant appeared.

"Master!" Dobby squeeked, as close to a yell as the minute creature could manage. "Dobby was worried! Dobby saw young master fall, Dobby thought-"

"Yes, yes Dobby, I know..." Draco interrupted. "But you see Dobby, I'm really feeling rather peckish at the moment. Bring me something to eat."

He turned away from the elf in dismissal, resting his chin on his palm and his elbow on the table.

"Ah, yes! Dobby bring food, Dobby will! Oranges again, Young Master?" The elf asked eagerly.

Draco looked thoughtful for a moment, ignoring the aching hunger in his gut.

"...perhaps a lemon or too as well."

Dobby nodded, so vigorously his entire body shook with it.

"And a lime, Young Master?"

Draco sighed, and gave a dismissive nod.

I guess I do deserve to treat myself, after all...

"Dobby will be right back!"

With another pop, the wrinkled little creature was gone.

Draco sighed. He looked out the window, staring at the sky above like he had so many times before... but something seemed wrong. Or maybe not wrong, but... different.

He puzzled over it for a moment, his lips pursed the way they always did when he was lost in thought. It took him a few moments, but then he realised.

Why is the window closed?

Even in the dead of winter, or the middle of a rainstorm, he left it wide open, letting the charms on the manor prevent him from getting cold or the water from getting in. So why was it shut now, on a sunny, clear day like today?

Standing and walking were easier this time. He made his way to the window without difficulty, and pushed on the latch...

Which didn't budge. Not an inch.

Was it locked from the outside?

Just then, Dobby popped back into the room, a basket filled with oranges and lemons, with a single lime on the very top like the cherry on a sundae.

"Dobby is sorry!" The house elf cried, dropping to his knees and making to slam his head into the floor.

"Dobby stop," Draco commanded. "Just what are you sorry for, elf?"

"The kitchen was out of limes, Young Master! Dobby had to buy one, from the Fruit Man! Dobby is late, Dobby is bad-"

The house elf tried to bring his forehead down onto the ground, hard, but suddenly found he couldn't. Draco stood in front of him, gripping the sides of his head and preventing him. With an exasperated sigh, Draco let go of the now confused elf.

"Dobby, you were hardly late. I never told you a time to be back here by, did I?"

Dobby sniffled and shook his head.

"Exactly. Now up, off my floor, elf, and leave me to eat in peace."

The house elf shot upright, stumbling over his words in a scrambled sort of apology, thanks and whatever else the creature was coming up with. Draco simply sat back down and focused on the basket of citrus in front of him.

"Oh, by the way, Dobby-" He called out.

Dobby stopped, just a moment before he would have popped out of the room.

"...Thank you."

Draco rolled his eyes as the elf, now crying, of all things, finally left his room.

Xx~xX

Hours later, and he was back in bed. He lay on his back, staring at the canopy over him. It was enchanted to show a moving image of a blue sky, dotted with little white clouds, and the occasional flock of birds. It wasn't as good as the real sky, but he had found himself too tired to stay sitting in his chair by the window not long after he had finished eating.

A quick glance over at the table showed a basket and a small pile of orange, lemon and lime peels.

His stomach grumbled again.

It hadn't been enough food.

"Bah!" He exclaimed, throwing the blankets off to the side and nearly jumping from his bed. He may have been napping for most of the time since eating, but it was still only early afternoon, and he was bored.He changed quickly into proper clothes, stopping in front of a mirror as he buttoned up his shirt. He scowled the moment he saw his reflection.

His normally pristine, platinum blond hair now stuck up in every direction, a stark contrast to the sharp, aristocratic features of his face. Even as young as he was, his jaw and cheekbones were pronounced and regal, typical features of the Malfoy line.

But Merlin, his hair...Twenty minutes later and without a single strand of hair out of place, he deemed his appearance acceptable. He still wasn't happy about the bags under his blue-grey eyes, but there was only so much he could do.

He strode towards his door, his favourite pair of shoes clacking on the hardwood flooring. But he was stopped dead in his tracks as soon as he reached it, which, like the window from earlier, was locked.

Draco paused for a second, slightly in disbelief. Then he rattled the brass handle again, and again, until he was gripping it in both hands and yanking on the door.

The door didn't so much as budge

"Dobby!"

Silence. No pop or sudden snivelling elf suddenly darting around a corner... just, silence.

A quick check of the window revealed it to be as locked as it had been hours ago. Why had he even bothered, really?

Now firmly in a sour mood, and more than just confused and frustrated, he flopped himself down into his chair and huffed loudly.

Where was the blasted elf when you needed him?

At the very least, his injuries seemed mostly gone. He no longer felt dizzy, or much of an ache at all. Whatever healing charms and potions he had been on had really worked wonders.

In seconds he was bored again. There was only so long he could stare at the walls of his room and the sky out the window.

The last section of his room was one he spent little time in. Bookshelves lined the walls, from floor to ceiling and packed full of spellbooks and texts. All basics of course, well basic for a Malfoy, at least (he was quite sure it was advanced for anyone of a lesser family). Most of them, he had never bothered to read. Could he help it that riding a broom was so much more interesting than dusty old books?

He walked by the shelves, waving a finger around in looping twists, before pointing to a book at random and pulling it down.

Dark Arts, An Introduction, Vol. II by someone who's name had been hastily spelled off the book, most likely due to the tome being banned since the 1840's. It was one he had read (or rather, skimmed) before, and one that had always been entertaining to read in the past. Plenty of hexes and jinxes perfect for when he finally could go to Hogwarts.

Draco ignored his chair this time, choosing instead to lay sprawled across his bed with his book in hand.

He flipped through, a bored expression on his face, skipping directly to his favourite jinxes. There was just something so interesting about making someone puke slugs...

Having skipped most of the book, he was done in minutes and once again found himself exhaustingly bored. He debates grabbing another book, but he was rather comfy in his spot...

Instead, he flipped to the very first page, something he had somehow never done before.

Perhaps the greatest misconception surrounding the Dark Arts throughout the ages is not in their intent, but their definition. What marks one spell as 'dark' and another as not? For there is no true 'light' to the dark. There is simply 'magic' and 'dark magic'. But what differentiates these two, or are they truly different at all?

Draco perked up a bit from where he was laying.

This question has been pondered by many great minds for millennia. However even greater minds have known the answer for far longer still.

Dark magic is fundamentally different from the rest of magic. In the creation of its spells, the method of its casting and even the effects those spells are capable of bringing upon the world.

First, we must define magic. Explain that which defies logic.

Magic is not quantifiable, not measurable by any scale known to wizarding kind. It exists as a force, different only from forces such as inertia and gravity in that no rules seem to apply to it. Its boundaries exceed even human imagination in many ways. Still, there are things we learn of it through our own incapabilities.There is a limit to how much 'magic' one can use. It is often explained to apprentices as a well. Using magic drains the well, and the larger one's individual well, the more magic one can cast. This is an accurate, but wholly inadequate explanation.

Many forms of magic draw energy not from one's 'well', but from other sources, as 'magical energy' is stored in all substances, in varying concentrations.

It is this form of magic, drawing power from sources outside one's own well, which we refer to as 'Dark Magic'. While all dark spells still drain one's well, in many cases even more so than normal magic, all dark spells also require energy from another source. Most infamously, blood magic and soul magic, which require a sacrifice of blood and a sliver of one's soul, respectively, to cast.

A shiver went down Draco's spine. A sliver of one's soul? Every single time you wanted to cast a spell?

Footsteps outside his door dragged him from his thoughts. He barely had time to climb out of bed and into a suitable position before his door slowly swung inwards.

The greying head of his mother was the first thing he saw, followed quickly by the utterly blank expression she wore.

Uh oh.

Narcissa walked stiffly, even more so than normal. She glared down at her only son, stopping to stand unnervingly still before him.

"I see you have recovered." Her voice was as flat as the hardwood floors, and just as cold.

Draco said nothing.

Narcissa glanced around the room.

"Have you enjoyed your stay, Dear?"

"If by that you mean being locked in my room, then yes, Mother."

He regretted his cheek instantly. Narcissa snapped her head back to stare at him, the first hint of anger beginning to shine through the stoic exterior.

"Then maybe my message is not clear. Should I instead, say, snap the rest of your brooms for you, Draco?"

His eyes widened against his will.

"Y-you can't!" He sputtered.

"I can and I will if you continue your insolence. As it is, you should consider yourself lucky you won't be in this room for the next two weeks like I had originally planned."

Draco's sudden panic subsided slightly. Like she had originally planned? What had changed? It wasn't like his mother to change her mind.

"Oh, Cissy, but that would ruin the fun!"

The sudden, overly excited, high pitched, feminine voice made Draco jump. Narcissa visibly cringed, although covered it up behind a mask of indifference instantly.

From the open doorway, a second woman walked into the room.

She was easily the strangest woman Draco had ever seen. Her black hair was wild, messy and tangled and far too long. Her makeup was black all over, popping out from her snow white skin and black eyes that made him want to curl up and hide. She strode into the room on impossibly tall heels, barely visible under her tattered and torn black dress.

The woman made a beeline straight for him, a look of twisted glee on her face. She bent forwards when she got to him, standing so close their noses almost touched and Draco was forced to lean back uncomfortably.

"Ohhh Draco, my little dragon! Last I saw you, you were just saying your first words!" The woman pinched his cheeks. He flinched, as she squeezed too hard, her too-long nails digging into his skin, although she seemed not to notice.

"...Draco, this is-" Narcissa began, before the strange woman cut her off.

"Ah, yes! I don't think you would remember me, would you? You were quite young, after all."

Something about the gleam in her eye was simply wrong. Like something important was missing inside her head, and the void it left was more noticeable than what was still there.

"I'll just have to reintroduce myself then! Draco, I'm-"

"My sister," Narcissa cut in sharply. "Bellatrix Lestrange."

Bellatrix pouted at being cut off, a disturbingly child-like expression on her face

Draco was too stunned to speak. What was his aunt doing here? His mother never talked about her siblings, only briefly mentioning them when explaining the family tree.

But wasn't Aunt Bella supposed to be a Death Eater? What was she doing here?

"I think I know what you're asking, little dragon," Bella sang. "When do we start! Right? Hmm, Draco?"

Start? Start what, and why with this woman?

"I- I don't believe I follow..."

Bellatrix frowned, an over-exaggerated gesture that would have been comical if it were on anyone else.

"Oh, Cissy, don't tell me you didn't tell him!"

"He's been recovering, I haven't the chance."

Bellatrix ignored her, instead smiling as she caught sight of the book on Draco's bed. She picked it up with a flourish, dramatically opening the pages and flipping through far too fast to be actually reading it.

"Enjoy your books, Draco?" She teased.

He managed a stiff nod.

Bellatrix shrugged and threw the book back over her shoulder towards the corner of the room, in a high arc. In the blink of an eye, her wand was in her hand and she spun in place, a deep purple spell flying from her wand and connecting with the airborne book.

Draco watched as the book shriveled, turned black and rotted away into nothing but a pile of sticky tar-like substance, all before it hit the floor. The stench it made filled his nostrils, and he gagged horribly. It smelled exactly how it looked, like a pile of something dead for so long it had lost all shape and simply become a sludge on the ground.

"Books can only teach so much, little dragon. I'm going to teach you the rest... the fun bits!" Bellatrix smiled wildly, her eyes alight.

Narcissa tried to remain impassive, but Draco caught the slightest hint of worry in the crease of her brows.

This madwoman is going to teach me spells? Is she even fit to carry a wand, let alone teach something as dangerous as dark magic? Mother, are you really okay with this? With your only son being near this?

"When do we start?" He asked warily.

Bellatrix put on what she probably thought a thoughtful face was, although in reality she simply looked over-eager.

"How about... now!" She shouted, and flicked her wand up to point it at Draco's face.

He caught a glimpse of his mother's wince, before a blue spell filled his vision and everything went dark.

Xx~xX

A/N: Damn Bellatrix is a hard character to write. She's so eccentric, it's hard to make her seem real, and not like a comedic or edgy parody of her canon self. Getting her in that proper balance of crazy/dangerous/childish is a lot harder than I thought it would be. Draco too isn't an easy character to write, yet. His dialogue and internal monologues are a balance of the eloquent, snobbish pureblood and the somewhat lazy, neglected child he is on the inside. Very interesting for me as an author, but tough to write.

On other notes, I really want to know what you guys think about for OC's for the story. I mentioned before I had a couple set up, and I think I could make them very enjoyable characters that bring a lot of variety to the story, but I can also make things work without them.

So, let me know. You guys want me to include some OC's, or focus more on the characters from canon? What balance between the two, maybe?

Lastly, still looking for suggestions on a pairing. I don't think pairing Potter with an OC would go over too well, but I am considering it. I also don't want to do one of the super common pairings. So for that reason, Hermoine is out, sorry guys.

A list of pairings I'm currently considering (For Potter):

Dapne Greengrass

Astoria Greengrass

Luna Lovegood

OC

Whatever you guys suggest, make sure to let me know why. Gives me more material to think on.

As always, thanks for reading.

-D.A Haven