Tom Stark-Malfoy

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 suċkėd 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.

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.