1.

"LET Light guide our path through the shadows and protect us from the temptation of the darkness." The Lux family drones as they sit at their dinner table, one designed to hold a whole party of guests despite only containing the family of four. Every night, it's the same thing. The same words, the same request for guidance, before they eat their dinner. Dillion knows it off by heart at this point, to the point where he doesn't even think about what he's saying. He wonders if that might take from the power of the request, if there's no actual intent behind it. He's not sure he cares. In the many years since he realised so long as he said the words no one cared what he was doing, he hasn't noticed any dramatic decrease in the quality of his life. He's fairly certain it's just for show.

He'd really prefer they kept the show for when they had guests. He hasn't eaten all day and dinner smells good.

"Let Light provide us the power and strength we need to get through the next day." It would be far more effective to just ask for this once at the start of the year, to ask for a whole year of strength and protection. This is definitely for show. Not for guests, but for the two boys sitting at the dinner table. A 'good example' of what a good devotee of Light magic is like. But instead it has the opposite effect; Dillion would value Light a whole lot more if it wasn't shoved in his face every single day.

He doesn't think Light is useless. There are plenty of good spells that have their origins in Light. But there are also plenty of good neutral spells that are just as useful. You don't see people worshipping Neutrality. You don't see people praying to Neutrality to protect and guide them. You don't see a whole family decide all their many generations to come will be just as devoted to Neutrality, even when the idea of worshipping a single entity of magic feels obsolete and useless. Not once, in all Dillion's many years of playing the devoted child of Light, has he felt any sort of connection to the magic. He's not sure he's necessarily supposed to, but his parents act like they do. Even his older brother Michael, when he turned seventeen, participated in a special coming of age ritual that he claimed brought him closer to Light.

Dillion opens one of his eyes a fraction to look across the table at his older brother. He's the image of a perfect son, eyes closed in prayer, all poised and impeccably presented. Of course, he has to be; being the oldest son, the true heir to the Lux name, he has all the pressure weighing down on those broad shoulders of his. Dillion was fortunate enough to not only be born as the youngest, but also the favourite child. The Lux parents don't even try to hide their favouritism. Dillion has never truly been scolded, not properly. But he's heard Michael get an earful almost every day — whenever the opportunity arises.

"Lux in via." The prayer closes with the family's motto and Dillion quickly closes his eye, only to reopen it a second later when he hears the movement of his father at the head of the table. It's soup for dinner, but at this rate it's probably already lukewarm. Dinner itself is a quiet affair, as always. If there are any discussions — which are rare with how often his parents are even present — they are kept to a minimum. It's not polite to lose yourself to a heated discussion over dinner, his mother claims. Bad for digestion.

When everyone is finished, Dillion returns to the family library, which sits beside his bedroom, and settles in for another night with his books.

It begins with an accident. A completely unintentional series of events that Dillion should, in no way, be held responsible for. Not the beginning, anyway.

It begins in the family library, which is a rather large room filled with bookshelves from wall to wall with predominantly books on Light and various other forms of magic, collected over the years by various owners of said library. While, technically, it currently belongs to Mr. Lux, the head of the Lux family, it might as well belong to Dillion with how often he's in there and how many of his own books he's added to the collection. It's one such book that causes Dillion's many future problems.

Dillion Lux lounges in his favourite couch in front of the fireplace tending by one of their house elves, flicking through a book on spells far too advanced for him. The book itself is about protective spells, with a focus on the healing variety — not necessarily something he has a particular interest in or a need to learn but, he thinks, all knowledge is good knowledge. It is also one of the books in his dwindling pile that he hasn't yet read even once, so he feels obliged to read it. It's just a shame because it's a terribly dry book that takes far too long to get to the point without really explaining anything properly. A companion guide, more than anything.

It is one particular chapter, and only a small section within that, that stands out to Dillion. The section on healing rituals is possibly the worst section of the book, but a brief mention of the darker arts does pique the boy's interest. Dark has always meant evil and bad, so the concept of it possibly healing someone is almost unthinkable. The book almost concurs with this, claiming that most that would come under this banner would more often than not be considered necromancy and come at a terrible cost to both parties. However, there are a few rituals that don't require one party to be dead; some offer up a trade of the injuries, so one might bear another's pain, while others will do similar without the trade. The only issue, however, is that most dark spells and rituals still require payment from the caster, usually in blood. Not to mention the influence it opens you up to.

Naturally, the Lux family is a family set firmly in its devotion to light magic. As far as the records will recall, there has never been a practitioner of dark magic. Because of this, the extent of Dillion's exposure to this has been his defence classes and the strict rule that it is off limits because it is bad and dangerous. However, Dillion doesn't think this would extend to having knowledge in that area. Know thy enemy, and all that. If he simply knows how it works and doesn't practice it, then he hasn't broken any rules and should be more powerful than he would be without that knowledge.

So, it is without guilt that he hunts down this book's references and places an order for it with his personal allowance, behind his parents' back.

One book turns into two, then three, four, until Dillion has a small collection hidden under his bed. The dark arts is a world that, now it has opened to the boy, he realises is too large to be covered in just a few books. If he truly wants to be a theoretical master, he will need to collect a small library at this rate.

A History of Dark Arts claims that the dark arts has a long reputation of being manipulated by witches and wizards seeking power and glory, who use it for evil and cause a great deal of suffering. It is because of these rotten apples that it's widely accepted that the dark arts are a corruptive force that bring out the worst in people and are only capable of causing pain. In contrast, Dark Arts: An Introduction suggests that these are a horrible minority that have brought a bad reputation for a force that is actually rather neutral. It isn't the magic bringing out the worst in humans; it's the humans bringing out the worst in the magic.

These conflicting views are consistent over all his books. Where one might claim one thing, another will claim the opposite. The only thing they seem to almost reach an agreement on is a majority of the more powerful spells will require a trade that can usually be made with the caster's blood. Still, even here, some claim this is the case for all spells, whereas others claim it works much the same as magic on any other part of the spectrum might.

With no way of telling what is correct, Dillion decides there must be two truths to this. The first being that, to non-users, they truly believe the dark arts are a force of evil that should be treated with caution. The second being that, to users, the dark arts are something to be respected but not quite as dangerous as they're treated. If he approaches his reading with both in mind, he can keep an open mind while maintain caution.

Dillion can't deny that, deep down, he hopes it's the second truth that's correct. He has no reason to — he shouldn't be practicing and has no intention of doing so. But he also finds it difficult to quell the growing interest that is bordering on a desire for knowledge beyond purely theoretical.

Dillion's entire break passes with his nose buried within his books on the dark arts. He manages to buy more but, even with rich parents, his allowance is starting to get stretched thin. Any more and he'll have entered his savings, that he'd rather not touch in case an emergency does come up that then requires him to ask his parents for more and explain where all his previous money went.

It's in his third book on dark rituals, one written by someone who views the dark arts in a positive light, that Dillion learns what might hold as the most interesting and intriguing piece of information he has learnt throughout all his reading.

'Quite often, dark rituals don't require magical abilities. Even a muggle could do them and be successful so long as the dark magic blessed them with its power. This is because rituals are more often an action done asking the magic for the effect, rather than causing the effect oneself. For example, in performing a ritual of strength, you are asking the dark magic for strength rather than giving yourself strength.'

This means Dillion could try it at home without risking the Trace. He could see what it feels like, if it's as horrible as the negative books suggest, and reach an opinion for himself.

The temptation sets in. Dillion wonders if the reward of all that knowledge is worth the bite.

*

Mr and Mrs Lux are at dinner again. They have been home for a few nights in a row night, which means more prayers and more dinners spent sitting quietly at the table. Tonight, however, Dillion's father has something to say.

"Your mother and I will be out tomorrow night. We won't be home until late so you'll be eating without us." Their father informs them as he finishes his own meal. As his knife and fork are placed on his empty plate and he sits back, the plate disappears from the table, collected by a house elf out of sight.

"Yes, Father." Michael responds simply. When Dillion remains silent, his father sends him an expectant look. The boy catches on after a few seconds, when he makes eye contact with Michael and realises the older boy is trying to direct his attention to the man at the end of the table.

"Sounds good." He answers far more casually than his brother. This seems to appease his father who nods once at the two boys.

The rest of dinner passes in silence, though it doesn't last much longer. Soon, they've all retired to their respective ends of the house. Dillion settles down in his bed and ponders the opportunity presented to him. It hardly seems a coincidence that his parents should conveniently be out not long after learning about the magic-less rituals. Dillion would be inclined to suggest fate might be playing a part, but he's only ever heard about that in the context of light. He's not sure light would exactly be pushing him towards this.

Curiosity might have killed the cat, but Dillion supposes it was likely the satisfaction of knowing what dark magic feels like that brought it back. Apparently it can do that — bring dead things back to life — but only at an incredible price. Light magic can too, and is apparently more common than the dark spells. The worst of dark spells are more focused on ending lives than reviving them.

Despite this, it's the burning curiosity that led to the cat's demise that has Dillion satisfying his own the next evening while his parents are out. He's never really been one to put much weight in fate, but even he's hard pressed to deny the perfect opportunity laid out in front of him. It would be a waste to do anything but try out a ritual. It's not like he's planning on become a practicing dark wizard anyway; he just wants to try it out in the name of academic pursuits.

His parents leave early, giving Dillion plenty of time to prepare. Before they've actually left, to bypass the Trace, he charms his door against any unwanted intruders. There's a limit to what he can do without raising suspicion, but he can at least make it a little harder to open the door and give him some warning in case someone decides to enter without knocking.

When he hears his parents leaving, followed by the distant click of Michael's door closing, Dillion sits on the floor and opens his book. To his side, he has a piece of chalk, a candle, a match, and a knife. He begins with the chalk, drawing a small circle out in front of him; inside the circle, he draws a list of protective runes around the edges. In the centre goes the candle, lit only once he's sat there for a few seconds, meditating. When he feels as calm as he can be, he lights the candle, and the flickering glow of the flame fills the room in its orange hue.

"I am just a student, but I call upon the darkness this evening seeking its guidance and protection." Dillion begins, the words burned into the back of his eyelids. It sounds like their nightly prayers. While the book claimed that there aren't really any exact terms for opening a ritual, it did provide a script for a learner and the brunet felt it safer to stick with that. It meant one less thing he had to be thinking of during it. "I ask that, if you deem me worthy, you grant me with your aid. I ask that you lend me your power and, in return, I offer you some of mine."

It is with a shaking hand that Dillion picks up the knife. His heart is thumping loudly in his chest, the blood rushing through his ears like the crashing of waves. His whole body feels as if it's turning into jelly. There is a great deal of guilt building in the pit of his stomach as he reaches the point of no return, one small step away from breaking one of the biggest rules of his family and disappointing a long line of dark-hating, light-worshipping witches and wizards. He knows that his aims are fair, that this is purely educational rather than any great desire to become a dark wizard, but that doesn't ease the guilt. It's ingrained into him, just as deep as chewing with his mouth closed or saying 'please' and 'thank you'.

"Dux tenebris." Dillion presses the knife against his skin, up near his elbow where he thinks he might be able to hide it, and then he presses deeper. He falters, burning pain far worse than he anticipated, before clenching his eyes closed and drawing the knife across in a thin line. It takes everything in his being to hold his trembling arm out over the candle and the circle, to allow the blood to drip down off his arm and onto the floor, and to not just curl up in a ball and call it quits then.

Dillion has never really hurt himself before. He's had a few minor injuries but, otherwise, he's lived a blessed life full of very little pain. He would say this is the worst he's ever felt.

"Tenebris protegit." The second cut isn't easier. He'd say it's worse, mostly because the build up takes longer. He sits with the knife pressed gently against his skin, knowing what's the come and not wanting to suffer through it.

As the blood continues to drip onto the circle, Dillion watches it and sniffles softly. He isn't crying, but his eyes did well up with the pain. All that comes next is waiting, preferably for some sort of sign or until Dillion decides he's not getting an answer. He doesn't have to wait long for the former.

It happens slowly and then suddenly, with a warmth caressing his arm like a hot breath before his whole body is enveloped in a heat bordering on painful. Like being wrapped in a blanket in front of a fire, as the fire reaches out and threatens to lick you. The candle flickers out into darkness but Dillion barely notices. The darkness surrounds him, touching him, pulling at him, holding him close. Like the warm hug of a mother.

At some point, Dillion must have lost his vision and perhaps his consciousness. It's unfortunate, because the next thing he sees is his father's face peering down at him, seething in rage. The second his eyes are opened, he's pulled roughly to his feet, held still by his elbow. His father is an intimidating man on the best of days, holding himself tall and confident, but he towers over Dillion now like some great, terrifying giant, as if Dillion is nothing but an ant at his feet.

"What is this?" His father demands, gesturing to the smudged circle on the ground. It's barely legible underneath the smeared blood, but it's still clear what it is. Dillion's father likely already knows, especially if his face and tone is anything to go by. "Why would you do this?"

"I was curious–"

"Curious?" His father repeats incredulously, shaking Dillion's elbow as if in emphasis. "Don't you realise how dangerous this is?"

"It isn't that dangerous. I was careful." Dillion tries to explain, but he can already see his response falling on deaf ears. He realises now that his mother is standing in the doorway, watching the scene unfold. She remains silent, but her face shows her disappointment. They're both disappointed in him. They've never been disappointed in Dillion before. Weren't they the ones who encouraged his academic pursuits? They shouldn't be disappointed. They made him like this.

"It's dark magic. No matter how careful you are, it's always dangerous." The older man insists. When Dillion opens his mouth to respond, he cuts him off before he can even say anything. "Just by playing around with this, you've already opened up things you don't understand. You stupid boy."

"I wasn't playing and I do understand." Dillion retorts bitterly as the insults wound him. He feels small under the man's gaze and he isn't small.

"Oh, do you? Are you a dark wizard now?"

"No, but I've been reading. I knew what I was doing. Like I said, I was just curious — I wanted to know what it was like, so I could form a proper opinion on it."

"Our opinion should be enough. Didn't you think generations of wizards opposed to dark magic would tell you what you needed to know about it?"

"I don't want to just accept your opinions as fact. I want to understand them so I can form my own opinions." It's not fair. Dillion almost wishes he was a dark wizard now. He feels the consequences wouldn't have been any different. Maybe then, at least, he could feel as if this was justified. Surely the first Light witch or wizard had to have dabbled in Dark magic before they decided it was bad; surely he's not the first to do this. "I didn't do anything."

Dillion's father lifts the boy's elbow up roughly, holding his bloodied arm up so he can see it.

"Is this not doing anything?" He asks as he gestures to the arm. "Where are those cuts, if you didn't do anything?"

It's in this moment that Dillion realises his arm is completely healed. It's only the blood that remains. The trade was accepted. The ritual was successful.

"You don't even realise what you've done." There's a softness to his father's voice, but it's a dangerous one. Detached, rather than caring. He drops Dillion's arm and moves away, turning his back on him. "Pack a bag."

With a flick of the older man's wand, a suitcase appears beside Dillion.

"What– Why?"

"You have chosen your path. I won't let you bring this family down with you."

"That's not fair! Father– I haven't done anything."

"Pack a bag and do it quickly. If you do it slowly, you'll just have nothing." Dillion's father doesn't let the boy try to beg or plead. He just leaves, taking his mother with him, and all that remains is the heavy silence. Dillion remains frozen for a few seconds as he watches the empty doorway in shock.

Satisfaction might have brought the cat back, but Dillion had forgotten that cats have nine lives and he only has one. It is quite clear that the life he once knew is dead. Whether he leaves now or has his father change his mind in the time it takes him to pack, nothing is going to be the same. Trust has been broken.

Slowly, movement returns to his body and he begins putting clothes and books in his bag, barely even aware of his actions. It's as if someone else is controlling his body, as he instead barely comprehends the situation in front of him.

His father never returns, but Michael does. The older boy watches as Dillion packs his final things into the suitcase, made bigger with a quick charm — might as well now, given the circumstances. He hasn't packed everything, but he's packed enough of his belongings that he could practically live out of this bag.

"What have you done, Dillion?" Michael says softly as the boy faces him. Dillion would almost think he was sad about it. But why should he be? He's the favourite child now. It's probably just disappointment. Just like his parents.

"I haven't done anything." As Michael takes in the remains of the event, he raises a disbelieving eyebrow. Rather than answer, he draws his wand and removes all the evidence of the ritual with a smooth flick. "He's just scared and close-minded."

"For good reason. Dark magic is evil, Dillion. We both know that." The pair leave the bedroom. Each footstep feels heavy, filled with reluctance. "Just go downstairs and apologise. We also both know he'd be far more lenient on you if you'd just show you didn't mean it."

"No." Dillion spits, glaring at the ground. "I didn't do anything wrong. I'm not going to play dumb for him."

"Dillion..."

"He's already jumped to his conclusion. I'd like to maintain some dignity." There's a soft sigh from beside him as Michael resigns his argument. Dillion's pride burns inside of him, the one thing he still has to cling onto. That being said, he's not convinced yet that this is all as legitimate as they're making it out to be. It would be so stupid to kick their favourite son out for one mistake. He suspects they're all just empty threats, to get him to cave like his brother wants him to. Like his brother would, if it were him in Dillion's shoes. And he won't give them that satisfaction.

However, his mother and father are waiting down stairs in their spacious foyer, right by the door. It doesn't take a genius to know what awaits Dillion. Even he finds it hard to deny the weight behind his father's threats.

"Are you going to kick me out for doing one ritual?" Dillion asks as he approaches them, keeping his voice as level as he can. There's a pain budding in his chest, the bitter tang of betrayal burning his throat like bile.

"The amount doesn't reduce the severity. One murder is still a murder; one ritual of the dark arts still opens you up to its influence. One ritual still shows the complete lack of respect you have for this family." His father responds coolly. The pain blossoms, taking roots that grow into an uncontrollable anger.

"It's you that doesn't respect me. You can't even believe that I might have known what I was doing and was completely in control of the situation. You're just weak."

Dillion sees his father raise his hand, before it swings towards him. The unfamiliar sting of his harsh backhand prickles his cheek and he touches it gingerly in shock. In all Dillion's years of being alive, in all the times he's gotten in trouble, not once has anyone laid a hand on him. He's seen Michael get hit, but never him. It's the worst feeling in the entire world and, if Dillion wasn't so shocked, he might have cried.

"If you were truly in control, then that is even worse." With a wave of his hand, Dillion's father prompts his mother to move forward. The quiet woman approaches Dillion and holds out a small pouch. When the brunet takes it, he feels its heavy weight and listens to the quiet jingle of coins hitting one another as the pouch is jostled. "The Lux family is a family of light and we value those traditions highly. If you can't respect that, you're not deserving of the name."

"What– Just like that?" The fight has left Dillion, slapped out of him.

"Just like that." Dillion's father repeats. "The darkness has found you and corrupted you. If this corrupt wisdom is what you want so badly, then pursue it elsewhere. I won't stop you."

"Where am I supposed to go?" Dillion pushes down the tightness in his throat. He wants to maintain his dignity. He doesn't want his father to know how hard this punishment has hurt him.

"Anywhere. There should be enough money in that pouch to get you some accommodation until school goes back — all your savings from your allowance are still your own, too. You can go anywhere you want but here." It's his father's calmness that hurts the most. Despite everything, he remains as casual as if asking about the weather. As if it means nothing to him.

"Fine. I'll go." Dillion adjusts his grip on his suitcase, lifting it up off the ground in an angered jerk. He glares bitterly at his father, as he spits, "I am going to become more powerful than you or any other wizard you've ever seen. I'm going to become better than you, better than anything you could have raised me as."

"We'll see."

Dillion spares one last glare for his mother, who did nothing wrong beyond remaining silent during all this, and then one for his brother who is equally guilty of the same crime, before he storms out of the house and into the night. The energy quickly falters as he realises he has nowhere to go.

After a few minutes of walking aimlessly, trying to think of a solution, Dillion decides to call the knight bus. At least Diagon Alley has accommodation he can stay at overnight.

Dillion's room in the Leaky Cauldron is small but quiet. It is also lonely. Dillion is used to keeping to his own company, but not like this. This company is filled with the heavy reality that he has no one anymore, that he is alone by force rather than choice. He sits on the edge of the bed, staring at his hands, and is unable to stop the tears that begin to fall as he soaks in the silence. He's glad he didn't cry in front of his father.

Gritting his teeth together, Dillion curls his body up, pressing his knees against his chest. Tears turn to sobs and he bites down on his palm to keep the noise muffled. The tight pain returns to his chest, as if his ribs are crushing his lungs and heart, and he finds it hard to breath. He doesn't want to be alone. His parents were supposed to love him. He'd thought they'd loved him. But surely, if they had loved him, they would have understood; they wouldn't have been so quick to throw him out.

For the first time in a long time, Dillion cries himself to sleep that night.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:
I feel like things like being disowned need a lot of build up & explanation and so having it be the opening to a fic can make it a little weaker & weirder. Like it's meant to be an overreaction, they're prejudice purebloods that won't accept any family members that break their stupid rules, but I dunno if that's conveyed how I want it to be conveyed. But it also has to open it because it's the premise of the plot, so I just gotta go with it

I dunno if he'll play out differently in execution but in theory, Dillion would probably get put in top three of my favourite Harry Potter OCs (and then I'd feel bad for not putting others up top), so I'm glad he's out in the world now