Chapter 22:

Harry's heart seemed to stop for a moment, chilling with horror. No - NO!

The Dursleys couldn't be here…they just couldn't. It was wrong! Hogwarts was his home, his sanctuary from all things Dursley…and now they were here. With Tom. He felt sick.

"BOY!"

He cringed inwardly at the sight of his uncle charging towards him like an enraged bull; red faced and burly. His hulking, violent figure seemed to small for the room. Harry felt his shoulder's tense in concern, feel his heart beat quicken just a little bit. Outwardly, he remained calm, merely shifting his weight a bit so that he could easily move back if the situation demanded it. Tom had an unreadable expression on his face. He didn't bother to force a smile.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded automatically, not really thinking it through. Those piggy little eyes narrowed.

"Why - you little -"

"You're Vernon Dursley," Tom interrupted idly. His uncle stopped mid rant, looking at Tom.

"Who the hell are you?" he spat, before shaking his head dismissively. "Freak, get your stuff."

Excuse me?

"Why?" he asked warily.

"Don't question me boy. Just do it!" Vernon snarled. Dudley and Petunia came to a waddling, dithering stop next to him. Now he really did feel nauseous.

"Why are you here?" he questioned tightly, consequences be damned. A vein twitched in his uncles forehead.

"Don't ask questions. Do as you're told you little creep."

Tom's magic was starting to crackle, dangerously. Vernon seemed oblivious. Dudley shot him a smug grin. Petunia alone watched Tom with fear in her eyes.

"Duddy, wait outside," she said softly. "Vernon, pumpkin, perhaps we should move this discussion elsewhere…you know their type." Pumpkin? Didn't need to know that endearment…

"Their type?" Abraxas repeated coldly, eyeing his relatives like one would a small bug trapped under a microscope.

"Freaks," Tom clarified with a smile. The smile was an alarming one, deceptively pleasant in its countenance and utterly chilling in content. Those sharp eyes pierced his expression, searchingly. "Harry, why don't you…introduce us properly?"

Crap.

"Uh," he shook his head. "Later." He stood up swiftly, his muscles tight. "Family crisis - um - I think we should take this outside." His stomach churned like wild waves were washing around in the pit of his stomach. Tom scarcely needed another reason to fuel his muggle hatred.

Petunia glanced at him, her horsy jaw tight with tension and her nose flaring with revulsion at the presence of so many 'you know whats'.

"Don't tell me what to do boy, I've had enough of this - freakish nonsense - get your stuff and let's go."

Everyone was watching him, he could feel their stares prickling on his skin like fire. This was a nightmare. What the hell was going on?

Tom's fingers curled forcefully around his wrist, preventing him from moving away.

"Sit down, Harry," his voice was low, commanding and as cold as liquid nitrogen. Vernon flared up, roughly seizing his arm and trying to tug him away from the Slytherin heir.

"He's my nephew. I can do what the hell I want with him. You have no right to interfere with my family, boy."

Tom arched his brows, his lips turning into a sneer.

"Then get out of this castle and don't interfere with mine," he said, his voice calm compared to the raging torrent of his magic. Harry glanced at Tom without moving his head. With mine? Huh? Tom's family were dead…he was an orphan - they both were. Vernon seemed to share his confusion.

"I haven't touched your freaky family," he barked. Tom's eyes flicked to Vernon's fat, chubby fingers, still clamped around his arm and then back to the senior Dursley's face. Vernon spluttered. "His family's dead…you can't be one of them. That, that Vold-what's-his-face killed them."

Any other time, hearing someone call Voldemort Vold-what's-his-face in front of Tom would have been comical. Right now, he felt too sick to laugh. This wasn't supposed to happen. The sausages on his shoulder tightened vicelike, making him wince involuntarily. That would bruise in the morning. Tom stood up as well. Harry couldn't help but notice that the Slytherin was taller than his uncle by at least an inch. At their leader's movement, Abraxas, Zevi. Alphard and Lestrange all rose, their wands drawn.

Harry's mind offered him several vicious expletives. Original death eaters and a family of magic hating muggles = not a good combo.

"Tom…" he warned quietly, through gritted teeth. Tom didn't so much as look at him.

"How long do you plan on protecting them?" he asked instead, his eyes never leaving the older man's features. "They treat you worse than the muggles ever treated me."

"They're family," he protested, not entirely sure on why he was defending the Dursley's himself. Tom seemed to pick up on that, but said nothing. Vernon was watching them uncomprehending.

"You aint family freak," Dudley took the tense silence to speak, unwisely. Tom's gaze flicked to the boy.

Harry suppressed a flinch. He hated them, loathed them - knew the feeling was mutual. But even after all these years that comment never stopped stinging. Amazingly, it wasn't Tom's temper that snapped, but Zevi's.

"Call him a freak one more time and I swear to god I'm going to kill you."

Harry's eyes widened. With his magic sizzling, he wrenched out of both holds: Tom's and Uncle…no., not Uncle, Vernon's. He spun to stand between them.

"No one is killing anybody," he hissed, staring at the lot of them. He looked directly at his aunt. "I think you should leave," he said quietly.

"After all the trouble you've given us?" Vernon blustered. "I don't think so. We don't want anymore. No sir. The old man said that if we took you in for one more week then we would never have to see you again," now he sounded triumphant. The old…Dumbledore. Pain flashed through him; pain and fury. He glanced up the Head Table. So that was why no one, student or teacher, was intervening. But what was the purpose behind it all?

Dumbledore stood up, his eyes twinkling and a small smile on his face.

"I think there's been a horrible misunderstanding here." The twinkle vanished. "Mr Dursley, Mrs Durlsey, Harry m'boy - if I could just talk to you all for a moment?"

There was a dead silence.

Tom's expression was blank, his eyes glittering with rage. "If you could just sit down Mr Riddle?" Dumbledore continued.

A smile graced the future Dark Lord's face.

"Why don't you make me?"

Things went very fast from there.

AN: Ugh. Exams. Writer's block. Crappy HP writing skills. I'm sorry. I hope you somehow managed to enjoy this garbage, please review with your comments anyhow. Ugh.