Tom Stark-Malfoy

Draco P.O.V.

I petted Catalipsie who laid in my ŀȧp as I listened to father tell me more about how to increase and decrease the worth of real estate. It has been just like for a couple of days the past few weeks, just us talking to each other for hours on end. At first, he tried to give me preparatory lessons on subjects that I would soon take in wizarding school, but after proving my competency in all relevant subjects, he decided that our days were better spent just like this. Lazing around the house, ordering the elves to do work, and simply enjoying each other's company while talking about more practical matters.

At the beginning it was only me, talking on and on about my new life. I even ended up teaching him how to use a smartphone since he asked why it was buzzing so often, but he still refused to be given one. I couldn't tell him everything, like being raised in America, since there was an angry glint in his eyes when I spoke of my new no-maj dad, but recently he doesn't seem that pissed off knowing I was raised by a no-maj. Nevertheless, I'm extremely glad father turned out to be more understanding and tolerant than I knew him capable of.

Slowly, I got father to talk more, and I couldn't help but just listen and listen as he passed down generations of accumulated Malfoy Wisdom. The sound of his voice drowning out the world, as he gives me lessons, advice, or just tells me stories about mother, about his life before the war, and his hopes for me.

I loved listening to father, his voice soothes all my worries as though it were a lullaby. Or. . . no. you fall asleep when you hear lullabies. It would be plebian to fall asleep during important lectures or discourse. But what else soothes me? . . . Mother's piano? Yes, just like the sound of mother playing the organ.

"Tom, are you listening to me?"

"Yes, father!"

I give a big grin as I reply.

"Then what did I just say?"

"Well, that basically Wholesale quick turns give faster cash and increase our partnership with investors while laying low from investigators, but Retail quick turns give both faster and better cash if I'm capable enough to get our people to sell them to dimwits. In that regard, point organizations are a nice way to easily cut off our tails that do get caught, which is how we Malfoys are able to keep our finance steady and constant generation after generation. The trick is to never get caught. Backup plan B is to erase our tracks directly from within the Ministry, plan C is to exert influence from the mouth of the top of the ministry, plan D is to exert pressure on the Ministry with help from our long time family friend, Britain's Royal family, plan F is import influence from our connections in France and Germany, and plan G if all else fails, feign ignorance, while moving our wealth to Scottland where I would resume the Black family heritage under our ancestral maternal lineage, the Gamp. (Plan H, leave it to dad hahaha)."

I beam when Father does his best not to grin at my less than appropriate but greatly amusing digest of his lesson. My life feels almost complete and peaceful. If only mother were here.

. . .

"Father, where is mother?"

Father froze in place, and frost seemed to glaze over his eyes. But he quickly composed himself and glanced at me with the fondest (fakest) smile he could make. As though he was about to explain something placatingly to an immature preschooler who would throw a fit at any second and it slightly infuriated me.

"Tom. I hope you understand, but I had to leave her. She had to leave our side for her own safety."

Safety?

Father took a deep breath, and his eyes turned darker and emotionless. He's occluding his mind. Why? Is he holding something far too painful to tell without doing so?

"Listen Tom. I am about to tell you my shame. I hope you will never make the same mistake I have. When the Dark Lord was still in power, he branded his followers with a mark they could not get rid of. I was stupid enough to have that mark branded on me."

Father lifted his left sleeve, showing me a mark, I was far too familiar with for my own comfort. The Dark Mark.

"Please memorize this mark, son. Anyone you see with this mark, run away. Do you understand?"

His gaze was hard and unrelenting. He was very much serious, and I understand why far too clearly. .

"Yes, father."

He nodded his head and pulled his sleeve down, relieved to do so.

"The mark is inescapable; he can find anyone no matter where they go. That is why I cannot be with your mother, Tom, since the only way to find your mother is through me. The Dark Lord wants to kill both you and your mother because of a grudge he has against your aunt. Since I never registered you as a Malfoy, you are invisible in the wizarding world."

"I understand your confusion, son. But I cannot tell you why, I cannot tell you anymore than I already have, for your own good as well as your mother's. So please Tom, please promise me that you will not look for her."

That is why you are hiding like this? Why she is hiding? Why you never came to look for me??? I understand self-preservation, hell I live and breathe it! But when did the Malfoy's all lose their backbones!

"But they all say that You-Know-Who is dead! What power could he still possibly have over you?!"

I almost screamed in exasperation. A surprised emotion quickly flashed past his eyes then he gave me a knowing look as though persuading me to iterate what I already knew and prove his suspicion… no certainty that I already knew. 'Because he's not yet really dead.'

But I couldn't tell him even if he knows that I know, since this isn't information that someone like me should and could possibly know. So, I nodded my head and lowered my gaze.

Even without looking, I could feel my father's gaze cautiously analyzing me. Slightly disappointed that I didn't do as he persuaded that I do, but also impressed that I didn't.

"But how-?" How do you know? And How is he still alive? My questions hung in the air but before they could be asked father cut me off with a sharp look.

Ahh… I asked too much. But I can't stop asking. Not now. Not when there's so much, I don't know. Even if it's not about that, I need to know more.

"I understand why you had to leave mother and why you never looked for me. But, what prevents him from killing you? Why didn't you at least run away to another country where you could live better? At least that would prevent him from apparating to you."

"Tom."

"Why stay here and live like sheep for slaughter where he could kill you any second? You can't even walk around comfortably in Diagon alley since Britain persecutes you as a death eater, imperioed or not. I've seen the newspapers father."

"Tom."

"Why didn't you live lavishly elsewhere? The Malfoy inheritance couldn't have been THAT depleted by the Death Eaters. I would much prefer not to see you but with you living happily, rather than seeing how you were when I first arrived. When I first came here the house had more dirt than the garden, and there was nothing growing there anymore but weeds!"

"That's enough, Tom!"

"But father-!"

"Enough!"

I jolted in my seat, scared at father's sudden outburst and tears welled up in my eyes. But I can't stop. I won't. I can't.

"But what about mother?" I could not help asking. My heart felt heavy in my ċhėst as my hands clenched the cloth of my trousers.

"Why can't I see her? Why didn't she look for me? Wouldn't she want to see. . . me?" Every inch of me was shaking as an emotion I couldn't really recognize seeped into my bones, making my limbs cold. My breath came out in shuddering breaths. Oh no. Oh no. I was too immature. Father is going to be disappointed in me. Why didn't you stop speaking? Why?

"I'm sorry, I know it is very childish of me to insist, and-" Before I could utter another word, my head was smothered in a warm ċhėst, as I was embarrassed by arms whose touch, I didn't realize I had forgotten but now could remember.

"Draco. Being childish is your rightful claim at your age. In fact, for the short time I've spent with you, you've been far too mȧturė. I want you to act your age. And your mother would certainly be so proud to see the brilliant, kind, and strong young man you've become."

I felt something drip onto my neck, and father released me but held me in place at arm's length. Once again, I saw the pain and remorse within his eyes, and I scolded myself. How could you keep hurting your own father like this?

"But you can't go see her. Promise me you won't look for her."

". . . I promise."

Father's gaze upon me didn't rest until he was sure that I was going to keep my promise. And I was. I've been gone for 10 years, so father should know how things are, better than I do. There is a reason why father asks me to stay away from mother, and by the look in his eyes, it is more for my own good rather than hers. Following what he says is the smart thing to do. But I can't help but worry as I look at father. 'But why didn't you leave?'

He looks at me and intuitively knows what I was thinking about.. I know he didn't read my mind because I would have felt it, but he may as well have.