Leonardo had known his true parentage since he'd received his Hogwarts letter months previously. He'd done his research, even snuck into his Uncle's office to search through any correspondence with his father. There hadn't been any, and the punishment had been severe, but Leonardo didn't regret the disobedience. He was a Malfoy, not a Nott, and even if everything he'd read was true of the Malfoys, it was still better than being a Nott.
His mother had never once mentioned his father, and until she'd died he'd always thought his Uncle was actually his father; just another secret his mother had kept from him. She'd never been well while he'd been growing up, had lost time and been about as disinterested in her son as it was possible to be. That hadn't bothered him. What had bothered him were the infrequent visits from his Uncle, and what came with them.
Receiving his Hogwarts letter had been the best day of his life, because it was the day he found out he wasn't really a Nott. He was a Malfoy, and he had a father. Also, a brother, if the boys in his dorm were correct. He was pretty sure at least a couple of them knew, because they kept looking at him and smirking, and the name Draco Malfoy had come up a couple of times and the boy wasn't even at Hogwarts yet. So if he'd had any doubts after the Sorting Hat had referred to him as Nott, the past three days in Slytherin had put them to rest.
So he'd bided his time, and then requested an audience with Professor Snape. There were rumors about him too, namely that he was one of his father's closest friends. That made him the natural person to see about actually meeting his father. What he hadn't been expecting was for the meeting to be so abrupt. He'd been sent to the stockroom, and while he did his best to follow instructions to the letter, it didn't stop the nerves from twisting his stomach in knots. He was going to meet his father.
Professor Snape eventually came back, and instructed Leonardo to follow him. On the short trip, Leonardo tried very hard to keep his expectations reasonable. He was eleven, not a baby, and if he wanted this to go well, he was going to have to be mature. He'd have to prove to his father that he was worth the trouble of going against Nott.
"It's a pleasure to meet you too, Sir," Leonardo said, holding out his hand and pretending that his heart wasn't going to pop out of his chest. This was his father. He gazed up at him, trying to hide how nervous and shocked he was. His father looked like him: gray eyes, blond hair, pointed chin. Or rather, he looked like his father. "Thank you for coming. I didn't expect you so quickly."