Harry dodged another curse, falling to the ground with how hard he'd whirled around. Sweat had formed on his head, dropping down his face, stinging his eyes. Voldemort raised his wand, a maniacal grin on his face.

"Avada-"

"Tom Marvelo Riddle!"

It was like time had stopped. Harry's head snapped up, following Voldemort's line of sight. His mouth was agape, horror stricken. It was an odd sight to see his enemy like that, especially because the person who'd said that was a little old lady, slightly reminding Harry of Mrs. Fig. Her hair was gray and short, she wore muggle clothes and carried a cane with her. Hobbling over, she pursed her lips at Voldemort disapprovingly. Harry wondered why she wasn't dead yet.

Who was she?

"Mother," Voldemort croaked out.

Mother?

Harry's jaw dropped.

"What do you think you're doing?" The woman he now realized was Merope Gaunt, demanded.

"Mother," Voldemort-err, Tom, hissed. He couldn't quite think of his enemy as well, being his enemy when he was getting scolded by his own mother.

"Don't you mother me," She wagged a finger at him. "Look at this awful mess you made and all these people you've hurt. You know better than this, Tom."

Harry's mouth clamped together in order to keep his laughter from spilling out. This was too priceless.

Merope's eyes landed on Harry and her face softened into that of sympathy. "You must be Harry Potter," She guessed. "I must apologize on behalf of my son for all the pain he's caused you," She shot Tom a glare.

"Er," He almost didn't know what to say. "It's, er, alright, ma'am."

"Such lovely manners," She smiled at him and sighed wistfully. "My son was rather polite at your age, too, but I'm afraid he seems to think he's too good to use them now."

"Mother!" Tom barked. "This is...I'm seventy years old!"

"And?" She put her hands on her hips, which Harry took as a signal that Tom had clearly said the wrong thing. "What of it? Age does not give you a right to act however you want, Tommy, honey."

It was official, Harry's ribs might actually crack.

"Don't call me that!" Tom snapped. "Woman, how many times have I told you I despise that name?"

"Don't talk back to your mother," Merope gasped. "I don't care if you're seventy or not, I won't hesitate to take you over my knee."

A flush came over Tom's cheeks and Harry didn't know if it was anger or embarrassment.

She continued. "Now I thought this whole dark lord thing was a phase, clearly I was wrong and should have put a stop to this madness sooner."

Tom spluttered. "What do you mean put a stop to it?"

"Just as I said," Merope told him in a no nonsense voice like the one Mrs. Weasley used with Fred and George. "I want this castle put back together just the way it was and you're going to tell all your little friends to go home."

Harry saw Bellatrix looking between Tom and his mother in confusion. "My Lord?"

Tom rubbed the back of his neck, awkwardly gesturing the other direction. "Go home."

"What?" She screeched. "But what about Potter?"

Tom opened his mouth and then whatever he was going to say, he chose not when Nerope raised her eyebrows at him. "Leave him alone," He mumbled.

Bellatrix pouted but did as she was told.

"Good," Merope said approvingly.

Tom scowled.

"If you keep doing that, your face is going to get stuck like that, pumpkin."

"Mother," Tom whined.

Rolling her eyes good-naturedly, Merope said to Harry, "He's never liked my nicknames for him. Such a stubborn boy, he is. Moody too. Terribly so as a teenager. He used to insist I was embarrassing him and future dark lords can't have their mothers embarrassing them," She waved her hands dismissively.

Harry couldn't help but snicker.

"Just where are you doing?" Merope said sharply when Tom turned around.

Tom looked like he was about to erupt. "Fixing the castle like you said to!"

"Not so fast," Merope said. "You still have something else to do."

"What?" Tom groaned. Actually groaned.

"I want you to apologize to Mr. Potter," She said simply.

Tom was horrified for a second time. "No! I'm not doing that. Mother, he's my enemy. I can't apologize to him."

"You can and you will," She gave no room for further argument.

Harry didn't know if he should feel awkward or amused by this.

"Sorry, Potter," Tom mumbled.

"That is not how we apologize, Thomas," She reprimanded.

Yes, Thomas, Harry was inwardly cackling, do better

"I'm sorry, Potter," Tom looked like he'd swallowed something unpleasant as he said this.

"It's okay," Harry said so Merope wouldn't turn on him. Then, with a faux sweet smile, he said, "You were probably just under a lot of stress. I get it. Maybe your Mum should take you home and make you some tea."

Tom was glaring daggers at him. But Merope clasped her hands together, exclaiming, "Oh, what a wonderful idea! You know, tea used to calm my Tommy down all the time as a child."

Tom stomped his foot on the ground. "Stop telling Potter about my childhood!"

"Don't talk back to your mother! You see, this whole dark lord business has changed you. My sweet little boy was never like this. You remember when you were tiny and gave me flowers and said you wanted to marry me someday?"

Harry had to turn away or else they would see him laughing.

"Oh, how I miss those days," She sighed, oblivious to her son's humiliation. Then she became stern again. "Now I want you to get to work and if you stomp your foot one more time, I won't hesitate to drag you out by your ear in front of all these nice people. Is that what you want?"

Tom mumbled incoherently.

"Look me in the eye and speak clearly."

"No, Mum," Tom's voice sounded strained, like it was taking great strength not to lash out.

Merope shook her head, looking at Harry with exasperation. "Kids. What can you do?"