The Love Story of Harriet Potter and Tom Riddle

Chapter 79 - Rubbish

Thank you for reading! I don't own any of Harry Potter! Please let me know if you enjoy! Updates every Saturday!
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Alone in his room for the two hours during Harriet's nap late one afternoon, Mark contented himself by drawing and colouring a series of pictures that represented the spectacular sunset he had witnessed the previous evening.

Having grown accustomed to the echoing silence that abounded in Riddle Manor while his brother and sister were away at Hogwarts, Mark furrowed his brow as he concentrated on his work.

The sudden knock that came from his doorway nearly sent him leaping out of his skin as he looked up with a violent start.

His eyes widened in terror as he discovered the identity of his unexpected visitor.

"D-Dad......." Mark stammered. He swallowed dryly while he looked at Tom junior who stood in his bedroom's entryway, "........H-Hello."

Visits from his father were rare occurrences, yet visits from his father that resulted in anything less than angry words which expressed Tom's disappointment or forced lessons on magic that Mark simply could not do were nonexistent.

Mark's tiny heart pounded with fear as Tom gave him a surprisingly gentle smile and asked, "..........Good afternoon, Mark. What's that you've got there?"

As Tom walked forward, he watched his frightened little boy quickly collect his drawings and scoop up his crayons in an attempt to hide his non-magical use of time.

"I.......I, um, was just......drawing, a bit." Mark said as he fought for air.

Tom hid the smirk that would have betrayed his delight at seeing his worthless squib spawn tremble before his great presence.

"Is that so?" Tom calmly asked.

Mark didn't know what to say or do as his father slowly sat down on the floor, careful not to wrinkle his fine suit unnecessarily, before he reached a hand out and asked his little boy, "........May I?"

Mark wanted to whimper as he imagined what would come next.

It wouldn't have been the first time Tom had destroyed his pictures.

It wouldn't have been the first time he unleashed his disappointed fury that Mark had not chosen to spend yet another day practicing skills he could not utilize.

With the solemn resignation of a mother handing her children over to be slaughtered, Mark sighed as he placed his beautiful pictures into Tom's hands.

Although he still needed many skills and much expertise to be considered a great artist, Mark's work was impressive for a child his age.

"Is this our house?" Tom asked as he glanced up at Mark and pointed to the building depicted on the parchment.

Mark nodded.

".......And this is the sunset?" Tom asked as his finger slid over to the array of colours his son had layered on the illustration that dipped from sky to grass.

Mark hesitantly nodded again.

"What wonderful work you've put into this, son." Tom smiled as he glanced down at the picture again before he looked back up at Mark.

Mark's large eyes nearly bulged out of his head in bewilderment.

"Son" was a word that Tom reserved for James.

Mark couldn't remember a day in his young life when his father had ever addressed him by that familiar title.

"Why don't you tell me about these others?" Tom asked as he fanned Mark's drawings out in front of him.