Tom Stark-Malfoy

//Last Chapter I wrote Ultron. It was supposed to be Vision. Please forgive me, for I don't know what came over me to make such a terrible mistake.//

Loki P.O.V.

It was all coming together. The runes have been etched onto their moon. The bigger and better army consisting of not only the Chitauri but other races I have gathered under mind control for three dreadfully long years, is just waiting on the other side of the galaxy.

I knew everything I needed was all in one place, so that is where I left it. My scepter, a power source to fuel the barrier around the teleportation portal I would create with the Tesseract, and all the trinkets I would ever need for future endeavors.

I had already collected them all. I packed them so neatly in this nice red sack I found alongside them. But I never knew, that my plans could be foiled so easily by a child no less. I thought that I could continue hiding until the very last moment when I unleash my Army on this world and become the new Emperor of Midgard, but now here I am, exposed to the world. Or at least the part of the world that counts.

I was sitting on the chair the child tied me up in, inside of a glass capsule-like prison. From the sounds I can guess that we are on a Midgardian aircraft. Yes 'we'. For on the other side of this glass prison are very angry Midgardians arguing with each other. The angriest of which supported a black eye-patch shouting at the others to get in contact with Thor.

How amusing they are. They will not be able to find Thor, not for a few more years at least, I made sure of that.

But what on Asgard did that child do to me? These ropes are the most difficult binding articles I have ever come across. That child was very strange. His understanding of magic is far too deep for a child no older than 10. If I didn't know better, I would have thought he was Ishtari since he is definitely no woman to be a witch. But that is not possible; Afterall, my father killed them off before I was born, give or take 2000 years ago.

. . . Could it be? Did Ishtari survivors escape to this planet and breed here? Hmmm. . . yes. That would explain his youthful appearance. If the Ishtari did come here, then he should be around 300 years old as the mortality of their race is around 2500-3000. But wait. . . that only takes into account if the Ishtari were only to breed amongst themselves, which is definitely not the case. He looks far too much like the natives of this planet to be a pure blood Ishtari. Let's see, if the Ishtari were to breed when they have reached the age of maturity with Midgardian blood mixing into theirs; thus shortening their generation times. . .

This could be dreadful. 😊

It seems my ruined plans aren't all for naught after all. I have found a better way to amuse both father and my idiot brother.

The man with the eyepatch started banging on the glass. Hmm. Seems they were trying to talk to me. But no matter, I have finally managed to remove the curse on these bindings. I waved at my old acquaintances and teleported to the scene of the crime. It is of utmost precedence that I find that boy!

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Fury P.O.V.

"He can TELEPORT?! Why hasn't anyone told me this?!!! And WHY doesn't anyone know how to contact THOR?!?!"

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Tom P.O.V.

Last night, I kept waking up while sneezing with chills running down my back. I honestly thought that I had come down with the Black Cat Flu, but seeing as how I already feel better, 'must have just been a small cold.

Today was is my birthday, kind of. June 6th. I still find it kind of strange, Afterall, I remember birthday celebrations happening on June 5th for more than 20 years. Dad just called to greet me happy birthday then scolded me about the whole Loki fiasco, and about fleeing from America. But hidden within his words, I found relief and pride. Relief that I was safe, and pride that he can boast to all his SHIELD friends that his son singlehandedly captured the villain that has escaped them for 3 whole years.

Apparently, they lost him again, not to mention that my dad is dealing with the repercussions of my little tête-à-tête with Loki (oh if only I pieced together that he was Loki, I would have actually made him suffer before handing him to authority. But I'm also glad that I made the smart choice to avoid him, for he reeks of the word "troublesome".), and the fact that a flight to London is about seven hours, my dad was now, understandably, very prickly.

Somehow, I managed to convince him that we can just celebrate for the whole day tomorrow, so today may be the only day I am free. Thus, it is only evident that I find out more about my missing parents today, and my first stop is Malfoy Manor.

Thus in 30 minutes, at approximately 5:30 am when the sun was just barely rising into the sky, I had packed everything I might need in my suitcase and, with a feather-light charm and a shrinking charm, I was off.

I went through the bustling England roads until I reached a pavement that was deserted of even the most common Estate car. I raised my wand arm, and by juggling a bit of magic on the tips of my fingers, the knight coach finally arrived.

"Welcome to the knight bus, emergency transport for the-"

"Pardon for interrupting you Stanley, but I'm afraid we've already met. That's 13 sickles to Wiltshire ye? I'll have a hot chocolate too, keep the change."

I reached into my pocket and took out a Galleon. Sure I've never been to Gringotts, but that's not the only way to get money. He took the coin and punched in the numbers giving me a receipt.

"Well then, thank you for choosing us for this short trip. Find any seat you like."

I nodded my head and went on board, to find the most decent seat they had. Sadly, there were none. I heard him mutter something about spoiled purebrats, yes *brats*, and normally I would make him regret his words but my mind was far too occupied with thoughts surrounding my parents.

I wonder how they will react if they see me. Will they remember me? . . . I mentally smacked myself on the head. Idiot. Is this insecurity I'm actually feeling? Oh how I've let myself fall. What must I be insecure about? Of course, my parents will remember me. I'm me!

Letting my thoughts wonder to more productive places, it didn't take long to reach my destination. Sometime between that, I had received my cup and finished it.

Hearing the conductor say "Wiltshire, England", I got off and was happy to see that it was the town square. I could easily apparate to the front of the Manor from here.

With the knight bus now gone, I twisted on my heel and opened my eyes to a view I had long missed. If I closed my eyes, I could imagine the fountains we have behind each of the bush hedges that frame a pathway towards our gate. I still remember freely soaring on my broom in the fields around the fountains, waving toward mother and father. My father's smile practically gleaming with pride as I do my first Woollongong Shimmy between the perfectly trimmed trees. My mother screaming Abaddon whenever I fly even just a tiny bit higher than the treetops.

My pace towards our gate gets more hurried with every stride, almost hopping in anticipation. Will I see them again? Will I get to hug them again? See their smiles. Hear their laughter. But then I come to a complete stop three feet away from the gate.

The pure silver gate, untarnished in my memories, was now as black as the dirt covered pavement below it. The hinges crusted from years of staying closed. If only it were black paint, but that is not the case. The whole gate had been covered in silver oxide.

I slowly bring my hand forth, careful to touch the rough metal frame. But even if I barely even touched it, the hinges gave out and the gate crashed down with a loud clank. I froze in place, out of fear of being discovered trespassing, but no one came. Not even an elf.

I looked behind me and saw my footprints clear as day. They were the only parts that had disturbed the dust that had settled on the ground. Dread ran down my spine as I thought 'If the outside is like this, what would it look like inside?'

But I quickly shook my head at the absurdity. Steadying my heart, I paced myself to enter the house in slow but confident strides. I am not afraid. I will see everything with my very own eyes. Oh, how I was tempted to turn around and go back to my warm bed and our spotless Mansion. But I need to see everything here, for here is my home, my memories, my life, my. . . family.

I pushed the Mannor's large door, not surprised to see it open without a hitch. I strode inside, eyes darting around to everything I could remember. Memories merging with vision, covered by layers and layers of dust. And by Merlin, I see in the corners of the room, the largest dust bunnies I have even seen. I wouldn't be surprised if they sprouted eyes and fangs, ready to pounce and eat me whole. Monstrosities reaching more than a foot tall spanning the length of the whole wall.

I feared for my life and cast the strongest Tergeo I could summon, but even that could only make the room slightly decent. Well, at least now the monstrosities lurking at the corners of the room and under the furniture are how gone.

"WHO'S THERE!!!"

A low domineering voice thundered through the silence that haunted the mansion. The owner's voice was husky, cracking at syllables, and threatening with anger at the uninvited trespasser. But I will not cower! How could I, the inheritor of this house, flee from some homeless bum that managed to enter my house? I turned towards the stairs where I heard loud footsteps come closer.

I summoned power into my voice, and made sure to speak in a lower octave, making sure that the man knows who the REAL owner of this house is.

"WHO-?!"

My voice got cut off from my throat as I faced a man so familiar to me. His long hair, messy and tangled with things I dare know not, eyes bloodshot, hollow, and crusted yellow and white all around, cheeks sunken from malnourishment, skin yellow and grey from lack of sun and an unhealthy diet, feet b.a.r.e and dirtied, and clothes like rags dr.a.p.ed on his lithe form. Yet I could still sense power from his glare, his muscled tensing, ready to pounce or fight at any moment, and his clothes, though rags, were made from the finest of silks and dragon hide leather.

A figure so familiar yet forgotten. An image that I myself have sported on my last few years in my past life. An image, that blended perfectly with my memory of power and perfection, yet tarnished from the unkindness of time.

His grey eyes grew brighter, and wider as he gazed at me. His hand raised towards me, weaker, shaking and unsure, yet desperate. I wanted to run, but I felt as thought I could barely breathe, let alone walk. So I forced my mind into overdrive to move my limbs one at a time.

As we got closer, I could see his eyebrows scrunch up and his eyes fill up with tears and love. I could see his lower lip shaking in disbelief. I noticed strands of grey and white in his once pristine blond hair, and my vision got blurry with tears.

Then I saw the corner of his lips tilt up ever so slightly until they dropped down. I saw his eyes clear up and focus with suspicion and anger. I saw him bring his hands down to his sides, clenched up in tight fists, steady with control.

"Who are you?" His voice rang in my ears. How could I not recognze this voice? The voice that raised me for 17 years.

"I-. . . I-" My throat was dry, so I swallowed a gulp of saliva.

His eyes were unrelenting and blazed with power, they wouldn't let me rest.

"I'm Draco."

His eyes softened, yet they were still perusing me for any flaw, any sign that was just the slightest bit wrong. I closed my eyes and steadied myself.

"My name is Draco Lucius Malfoy. May I ask for your name?"

. . .

"Lucius."

It seems he doesn't trust me. Typical father. The corner of my mouth tilted up in glee.

"I-" [I've missed you father!]

"What brings you here?"

I bit my lip and calmed myself down.

"I wanted to meet you father."

He glared at me. Inspecting me from head to toe, but stopping longer to look at my left arm. Does he think my trying to fool him? Does he think me a Death Eater? But why would he be suspicious of Death Eaters. Oh well, if this gives him relief / satisfaction, why not?

I lifted the sleeve of my left arm, and watched him flinch at my movements.

"You seem very interested in my arm. There's nothing there."

I couldn't help the grin that made its way up my mouth. Though from my inherited facial features, it probably looks like a grin. He turned around, dismissing me, and proceeded to walk away; probably back to his room.

"I'm not interested in anything of yours boy."

His shoulders sank, and his fingers loosened up. So you say, but your body language says otherwise. These past years must have taken a toll on you father, you would have never conducted yourself this obviously in the past.

"By chance, is mother-" [here]

Before I could finish my question, the man in front of me suddenly fell forwards. If it weren't for my timely cushioning charm, he might have broken his perfectly shaped nose.

"Father!"

I knelt down beside him, and flipped him over checking his vitals. Breathing is normal, pulse is normal, but his eyes have rolled to the back of his head. I performed a body scan charm to see if anything might have been wrong with him, and the reason for his fainting spell was revealed.

{Malnourishment} {Liver failure} {Alcohol poisoning}

I s.u.c.k.e.d in a deep breath, and exhaled. In less than a second, I brought out my suitcase, and reverse charmed it back to normal. Opening it, I took a vial of a potion I had recently used. Opening the vial, I was about to tip it towards his lips, but thankfully I stopped in time.

Idiot.

I placed down the vial, and took out a pen and a piece of scrap paper. If dad is 5'8 and 170 pounds, with the perfect ratio of 0.64M 25ml. Father is 5'10 malnourished so probably 130 pounds? Not, stop kidding ourselves Tom, 125 at most. That ratio would. Doing the math, definitely kill him.

I can't just dilute the potion or the Bezoar won't be enough. But increasing the bezoar alone would incite the salamander skin to burn. More occamy eggs? No the poison was counteracted by the fluxweed, but adding any more would be fatal. What to do, what to do, what to do, what to do. . . hhnnnnffff. AH!!!!!

If I first dissolve the Beazoar in Bloomslang juice, and dilute the potion with more molten Antimony, then the potion would be weak enough to not attack his body, yet strong enough to have an immediate effect! Yes!

With a stir, and a shake, and some more pouring and stirring, I now had 40 ml of the potion. Tpping the diluted potion into his lips, I left a little more than a third of the potion inside the vial. Making sure he swallowed everything I gave him, I watched as his skin turned less yellow, and his body heat up a bit. Good, he should be burning the alcohol poisoning in his system. I waited until his body cooled down before I spelled another body check charm.

{Malnourishment} {Unhealthy liver}

Thank Merlin I didn't mix all of the alcohol poisoning cure into the metal expelling potion, otherwise we might have lost his liver. Sure I couldn't bring him back to top condition but I'm not a miracle worker.

"Mo-"

I double thought before I used the Mobilicorpus spell. I can't possibly push his body to use his own magic in this situation.

"Wingardium Leviosa"

I could feel that it was taking more out of me to maintain the spell, but I'd do anything for my father. Just as I know he'd do anything for me.

"Now let's get you to bed father. And let me see what else I could do for your liver. I'd take you to St. Mungo's but for some reason, I have a feeling you don't want to go there. You never did like Mediwitches and Healers touching you all over. . . Wait till you hear about Doctors!"

I couldn't help the small chuckle that escaped my mouth. Muggles really are crazy. Cutting people up to get whatever malady grew inside of them. *Sigh* But I do understand that they don't really have much of a choice, Afterall, they don't have magic. How else are they supposed to vanish a tumor?

As I was bringing father up the stairs to his room, shuddering at the amount of dust that threatens to invade my respiratory system, something fell out of his left inner pocket. A piece of cloth?

The cloth looked immensely old; it was faded and looked as though doxies had gnawed it in places; nevertheless, the golden thread with which it was embroidered still glinted brightly enough to show an image.

I knelt beside it on one knee and picked it up. Then, I saw a familiar face. Opening it up, I saw two familiar faces. My and mother's embroidered portraits with our names and birth-years embroidered just below it. Father's name was also there, right below mother's. Memories of the past flash through my mind as I recall where exactly I had seen these portraits before.

I was very young when I last saw them, but I couldn't be mistaken. This came from the family tree tapestry in mother's ancestral home, the Black Mansion.

My head swung back to gaze at my father's unconscious form. Why on earth did father have this? Why was it ripped out? How would he know where mother's house is when, if I recall correctly, it is under a fidelius? Did someone else steal it from there? Then it could only be a Black. But who would steal this?

Sirius is a blood traitor and wouldn't give anything to father. The same goes with Andromeda. Mother and Aunt Bellatrix? What motive could they possibly have in ripping out my and mother's portraits from the family tree? And uncle Regulus is dead, never even met the man. Then I thought of my grandparents' generation. . . and again. What motive could they possibly have?

. . . Strange. Very strange.

When I entered father's room, I was beyond shocked. There had been several bottles scattered around the halls, but this is. . . ground breaking! Literally!

The amount of bottles forming mountains upon mountains of glass was a sight to behold. Not a very pretty one. I wonder how on earth the floor remained intact? The weight of all these bottles should have made it collapse long ago.

When I stepped in, glass cracked beneath my Italian leather shoes and I couldn't help but cringe as some shards probably embedded themselves into the soles. Thank Merlin I was wearing outdoor dress shoes.

I glanced at father's feet and wondered how long his shoes have been on. Snockered or hangovered men don't really mix well with the idea of "taking of their shoes before bed and putting them on when they get up." I should know. Oh well. At least he has them on and I'm a wizard. I don't really favor the idea of pulling glass shards out of my father's probably blistered feet.

I shuddered at the image and slapped myself to concentrate on what I was supposed to be doing, not daydreaming.

I laid father on his tergeoed bed, and proceeded to clean up the place (with tergeos and Evanescoes- vanishing spell). Sure I was doing servant's work, but I can't possibly allow father to sleep in this dump. And according to the state of this place, all the house elves must have been dismissed years prior. But. . . how on earth does father eat?. . .

A vague image of father cooking for himself flashed through my mind but I banished it before it could formulate into a clear image. I slapped myself. How could I forsake and perform blasphemy upon my father like this? No. I must not tarnish his image, not even in my own mind.

After cleaning the place up to satisfaction, I noticed that it was almost mid-day. I should probably whip up something for father to eat when he wakes up. Maybe some porridge. I could surely find some recipes on my phone. Afterall, even without wifi, I still had unli data and dad had personally upgraded my phone so I could get reception anywhere on earth. (Dad had a satellite primarily dedicated to service my phone. 😊)

When I walked into the kitchen, I. . . *inhale* . . . *exhale*. . . Breathe Tom, breathe.

. . . I almost professed murder. But instead, I did the kind thing and simply glared death at the tiny beings with pointy ears and big eyes. They were hiding under the stove and inside the pantry; Quivering with fear, and their beady eyes all twinkly with tears. House elves. This is going to be a long day.

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//Timetravel - Eleven Years ago.//

Today was the worst day of Bellatrix's life. The healer had found out what was wrong with her, and she definitely did not like the results. Here and there, she was thrashing precious vases and priceless trinkets off of table tops and corner desks. But who could blame her for she found out that she could never birth a child in this lifetime.

She had been ill for several weeks. Her stomach had felt as though it was on fire, but she didn't take note of this for all kinds of pain had thrashed around all of her body parts. A brain-splitting migraine one day, the next a leg cramp that she could visibly witness twisting and turning under her skin for hours on end. The healers didn't know what was wrong with her for weeks until they finally figured it out.

She had been poisoned by different non-life threatening potions. But the mixture of which had corrupted some of her organs, specifically her ovaries and uterus. The healers said that whoever poisoned her was either a brilliant mastermind, or made one of the most coincidental and tremendously specific discoveries in potions ever made.

For starters, the symptoms were non-fatal and very misleading, thus distracting the healers from finding out where the problem was actually happening and whether it was actually long-term harmful. Secondly, the potions used can all be bought by a child from your neighborhood apothecary. Meaning, the buyer cannot be traced. Finally, it was discovered that all the potions mixed together had main ingredients that could not be legally bought by just anyone (unless of course, if they were already in the potion concocted.)

Therefore, it was easy to see that Bellatrix's poisoning had been no accident. And Bellatrix herself knew this, for she had read the mind of the perpetrator.

A few weeks ago, Bellatrix had noticed that there had been something very strange about Pettigrew. He was more confident, secretive, and calculating. Characteristics that she would never have put together with the brainless lion. So she read his mind and what she saw disturbed her, for inside his mind were images of her. Images of a far older her with a baby girl in her arms, stepping on the worthless fool who called her the Dark Lady.

She was elated when she saw this believing the man to be a seer, but alas he was not for there is no way for her to give birth now or in the future. Now she knew that the man was crazy. She believed that he had taken revenge for these things that she had never done, by stripping off her the chance to have that baby that always appeared with her in those images that are always at the forefront of the crazy man's head.

Bellatrix wanted to make the man pay, but as soon as she found him, he was whispering to the Dark Lord and the Dark Lord seemed happy with him.

When she had finally stumbled upon a chance when she and the Dark Lord were alone, Bellatrix had relayed all of the suspicious actions she had witnessed Pettigrew do for the past couple weeks. But he would not listen to her, and even cast a crucio with the most disappointed eyes she had even seen him make.

She did not know why she was loosing to someone who wasn't a Death Eater and was even her junior. What she did not know, was that his soul had transmigrated from the future and the Dark Lord was making full use of what little worth Pettigrew's future memories had.

Bellatrix thought that she had lost all value in her Lord's eyes, but not long after, the time to prove herself came. On the 6th of June, Voldemort had called upon his Death Eaters to announce their new mission.

It appears that a prophesy had been made and their Lord had called upon his most obedient and battle-competent inner circle followers to make sure that this prophesy was made invalid. When Voldemort had looked through Pettigrew's mind, he had been doubtful about the sanity of the man. But when he had tested his seemingly ''trustworthy'' follower Severus for several weeks, he found out that the man kept a dangerous secret from him. Though Secerus did not keep that secret for too long, he still hadn't told the Dark Lord as soon as he learned of the prophesy.

Forgiving Severus calmly had been no easy task even if Severus swore that he was unsure of the authenticity of the prophecy that came from an incompetent woman, but he still needed eyes that could watch Dumbledore's every move. From then on, Voldemort no longer doubted the authenticity of the memories that lie in Pettigrew's brain and he made full use of it.

Voldemort pondered 'born as the seventh month dies?' Then let them never be born.

The Potter boy died but Longbottom took his place? Them let them ALL never be born. And he had commanded his servants as such. "Kill all in the w.o.m.b."

No one (but two) really knew why for he did not share the prophecy, but they dared not ask. The Death Eaters had set out to do their master's bidding. Some realizing that they had turned into the lowest of sc.u.m, but none dare disobey the Dark Lord's orders.

Bellatrix, Rodolphus, and Rabastan Lestrange, Antonin Dolohov, Walden Macnair, Bartemius Crouch Jr., and Corban Yaxley looked at each other and came to silent agreements on the districts each were in charge of. [1]

Not long after, Bellatrix had set out to kill her only nephew, believing it better to be done by her than a stranger.

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[1] These names are not random. They are all more hands-on DE than political DE, who are loyal and love murder. Antonin is more loyal than murderous as an original DE and friend to Voldie. The rest are friggin loyal maniacs.

//A/N: Next Chapter is an extra long chapter with 6000+ words. The last arc before Hogwarts introduced in this chapter, the Lucius/Bellatrix arc, is (hopefully) three chapters long. Also, thanks for baring with me. I still can't believe I accidentally deleted like 8000+ words. But I believe that I wrote it much better this time, with a better thought out series of events. Well then, until next time. Adieu~//

I'm not sure how to write Harry so please give me feedback!

Poll:

Should I make harry a transmigrated character from a Drarry, Tomarry, or Timetravel!Harry fic?

a.) Yes, Drarry -> Draco will remain single but tons of innuendos. No PDA

b.) Yes, Tomarry -> Tons of misunderstandings that Draco is actually Tom Riddle. However, same situation as above

c.) Future Harry also travels to the past -> I might make him MOD to fit the story unless requested otherwise. More, but different, misunderstandings between Harry and Draco.

d.) No, Harry should remain canon.

e.) Others. Please express your thoughts in the comment section Thank you

Regardless of your choice I will still appreciate any and all feedback. That's why I asked for this poll to start with hahahha. Timelimit is when Harry appears. Its not too far off. I will write based on the majority vote. I'm cool with any result cause I love all results. ?. Love you guys

Current poll results: If the count is weird, that is because I'm counting votes on two sites.

Drarry - 3

Tomarry - .5

TimetravelHarry - 1

CanonHarry - .5

FemHarry - 1.5 (though I'm still thinking over this one and no promises)

WhatIsComfortableForMe- .5