It was 1942 and the Dursley family had just moved to Little Hangleton. Marjorie Dursley was six years old. She was a precocious child who spoke her mind often and loudly. Everything was an adventure to her and the word no only made things more tantalizing. There were no boundaries that could hold her back from her exploration, particularly when it came to the mysterious man who lived next door.
The Riddle family inhabited the home beside them and the eldest member, Tom, was something of an enigma to Marjorie. Often, she would see him pacing the ivy covered balconies of his looming mansion with his pet bulldog at his heels. Something about his demeanor made her feel that he was a sad man in desperate need of a friend. Perhaps it was the melancholy look that was so common on his face or the way he wrung his hands as he paced, but she decided that she would cheer him up.
It was difficult for Marjorie to find a time in which to introduce herself. Her mother often tried to keep her busy with private lessons in French, Latin, and classical literature to prevent her wandering the neighborhood and Tom rarely left his home, particularly alone. The only regular opportunity she could see was his afternoon walk with his dog around the gardens.
It took weeks of planning for Marjorie to finally slip out at just the right time, but as soon as the moment came, she took it. Striding directly across her own front yard, she approached the small gate to the Riddle property. Tom stood just a few feet away and seemed not to even notice her until she spoke.
"Excuse me, sir," Marjorie called. Silence followed. Thinking that perhaps Tom might have trouble hearing, she spoke again, only this time much louder. "Excuse me, sir."
With a resigned sigh, Tom turned to face her. "If you're selling something, we aren't interested."
"Oh. No sir. I'm not selling anything," she started, but Tom cut her off.
"If you aren't selling anything, then why are you leaning on my gate?"
Marjorie was surprised by the stern look on the man's face, but something inside of her drove her to keep trying regardless. "Well, sir, my name is Marjorie and I live with my family in the home next door. I often see you pacing on your balcony and you looked lonely. I thought that maybe you might want a friend."
Laughter erupted from Tom's throat, scaring the dog that circled his feet. "What could a child possibly know about loneliness?"
Thinking for a moment, Marjorie tried her best to craft an answer. "It's just me and my mummy in the house most days. My father spends most of his time at work and when he's home, he's often in the study. I never have anyone to play with around here and my mummy won't even let me have a pet."
"I suppose you do know a bit about it then. Unfortunately, dear child, I am not here to be your friend. I haven't time to keep you entertained," said Tom, slipping his hands into his pockets and turning to walk away.
Emboldened by the rejection, Marjorie shouted, "That's not true!"
Tom stopped in his tracks. "What isn't true?"
"What you said. You have all the time in the world. I've seen you. You never do anything, but pace," Marjorie insisted.
"Aren't you quite the impudent child," Tom said, his amused tone softening the anger in his eyes. "Does your mummy often let you make a habit of calling adults liars?"
Marjorie looked down sadly at the ground. She kicked at a small rock, causing a little puff of dust to float up into the air. "No. Mummy often says that I'm too willful for a lady. She says that ladies should be seen and not heard."
"But you disagree?"
"I suppose so. Why should I have a brain and a mouth if I'm not meant to use them?" Marjorie asked stubbornly.
The answer seemed to catch Tom off guard and it took him a minute to say anything. Marjorie began to worry that she'd done something wrong. "Why indeed?" he said with a smile.
When asked later by relatives, Tom was unable to explain why, but somehow from that moment forward, he and young Marjorie had become friends. Years later, she would surmise that it had been because they were both tired of being alone all of the time.
Over the next few months, Marjorie and Tom could often be seen walking through the gardens together with Tom's dog, Ripper, trailing behind them, barking excitedly at the birds. Slowly, but surely he began to open up to her, telling her stories of his travels all over England and of a few adventures abroad. Never had he had an audience as intent as this young child. She listened and absorbed everything he said, occasionally questioning him on different facets of his life.
At first, Marjorie's mother tried to prevent the friendship and chastised her for being a meddlesome child, but it quickly became clear that this was a fight she would not win. After much arguing and persistence, she finally resigned herself to the fact that Marjorie absolutely adored her next door neighbor.
As the days warmed, Tom and Marjorie would have the occasional picnic out in the garden. It was blissful with the bright colorful flowers blooming around them and the cool summer breeze carrying the scent of jasmine and nightshade. Unlike her parents, he would allow her to skip her sandwich in favor of cake and didn't tell her to stop when she put tablespoon after tablespoon of sugar in her tea. He'd listen patiently as she told him about her boredom during her Latin lessons or how unfair her mother was.
One late summer afternoon, when the sun was painting the sky a rainbow of colours, Marjorie ran through the gardens in search of Tom. She was excited to tell him about the new book she was reading, but it seemed that he was nowhere to be found. After turning over every stone and searching behind every tree, she realized he wasn't around and began the long walk back to her own home.
As Marjorie passed the mansion, frantic barking caught her attention. Ripper was inside pawing at the door and whinging loudly. The moment she heard him, she knew that something was wrong, but she tried to push down the feelings of dread rising in her stomach as she approached the door. She rapped at the door with her knuckles, stepping back slightly as it swung open its own.
"Tom!" she called through the doorway. "Tom, are you home?"
An eerie silence met her.
Entering the house cautiously, she looked around. She'd never been inside before, but it looked almost exactly as she'd imagined it might. The ceilings were high and decorated with gaudy chandeliers. Dark curtains were pulled tight across the windows, allowing only a small amount of light to enter. Loneliness and abandonment permeated everything.
Marjorie walked through the kitchen and into the sitting room, finding it empty as well. As the search continued, she wandered from room to room, occasionally calling out for her friend, but receiving no reply. Ripper followed behind her every step of the way crying anxiously.
Bending down, she patted the dog on the head. "It's okay boy. I'm here now. Everything will be alright." She tried her best to sound sure of it, but the further she delved into the home, the more she was certain that something was drastically wrong.
Her suspicions were confirmed the minute she stepped into the grand ballroom. In the very center of the floor were three people lying on the ground. Although they looked as if they could be sleeping, Marjorie knew that they were dead. "Tom!" she shrieked, running to his side and silently praying that her fears were unfounded.
When she finally reached him, Marjorie could see that Tom's eyes were glassy and unmoving. She studied his chest for any rise and fall of breath, but found it still. In one last desperate attempt to gain a response, she collapsed onto the floor next to him and grabbed at his hand. She pulled it hard trying to shake him awake, but it had little effect.
Tom was dead. The realization hit her hard and waves of shock and grief washed over her. Raw sobs ripped from her throat. Calling the dog to her, she gathered Ripper into her arms and cried into his fur. She would stay like that for hours, until her mother, worried by her disappearance, found her.
The following days were a blur for Marjorie. She was despondent at the loss of her only friend and though her mother tried to coax her out of bed, she refused. At one point, a doctor came to visit her, but he did little to help her predicament. Sadly, he told her mother that there was nothing he could do for a broken heart and that Marjorie would just need time to grieve.
A day later, a man claiming to be the Riddle family attorney knocked on the door, holding Ripper in his arms. The sound of barking was the only thing that convinced Marjorie to come down stairs.
"Are you Marjorie Dursley?" the attorney asked.
"That's right," Marjorie said, striding rapidly through the living room and taking Ripper into her arms. Fresh tears began to trickle down her cheeks as she nuzzled the dog's soft fur.
The attorney looked at the little girl before him and smiled sadly. "I've just finished up going over Tom Riddle's will and you were mentioned in it."
Marjorie looked at him, but said nothing. She was too focused on the dog wiggling in her arms.
"To Marjorie Dursley, I leave Ripper because every child should have a dog. May he always be the friend to you that he was to me."
"Oh, Ripper," she cried, the tears now flowing freely. "Everything's going to be okay. I'll take care of you."
"I'm sorry for your loss," the attorney said before turning and exiting.
From that day forward, Marjorie's life slowly returned to normal. A few months later, the birth of her baby brother, Dudley, brought a new sense of happiness to her. Between helping to care for him and watching after Ripper, she felt herself starting to heal, but she never quite forgot Tom and their evening walks.
Hi there!
This story was originally posted on HPFF for The Totally Platonic Challenge in which we were to write about two characters having a completely platonic relationship. The two characters I was assigned were Aunt Marge and Tom Riddle Sr. To be truthful, I was completely lost with this one. When I looked up their ages, I realized that the year that Tom was murdered was 1943 and Aunt Marge was born in sometime in the 1940s. That really had me stuck, so I decided to tweak the timeline just a little bit. In this story, I have Aunt Marge being born in 1937, which is just a few years earlier than cannon, making her six when Tom Riddle died.
Since I love exploring how characters become the people that they are, I sort of imagined Tom Riddle Sr.'s friendship being quite a defining thing to Marge. I think it's what spurred her love of Bulldogs, which she later bred. It's also the reason she always had one dog named Ripper. It was sort of a memorial to Tom and eventually to the original Ripper who kept her company as a child. I also tried to incorporate moments of the stubborn, brash personality that we see later on in cannon.
I really do hope you like what I've done with it and I would really love to hear any feedback you have on it. Thank you as always for reading!
~Kaitlin/TreacleTart