Format & Word Count: ficlet, 800 words

Rating: PG

Prompt: Merope Gaunt, parchment, loyalty

Warning: Suicide

Summary: Mother's love and sacrifice has far-reaching and unforeseen effects. With one last, desperate act of magic, Merope Gaunt leaves a tragic legacy to her son.

Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

--Dylan Thomas

Summon the Scythe

Stick-thin limbs protruded from ragged cast-off clothing. Matted hair, asymmetrical eyes and a bulging midsection completed the pitiful picture. The aproned Muggle who answered the door of the orphanage covered her mouth and shrieked for a supervisor.

Merope Gaunt was ushered to a small room and left alone with instructions to clean up and change into the gray nightshirt on the bedside table. There was very little else in the room other than a narrow bed.

After fumbling with a sponge and a bowl of tepid water the best she could manage, Merope reached for the short gown. One of the strings caught the handle of the drawer and tugged it open. She untangled the gown with stiff fingers and pulled it over her head. She moved to close the drawer, but paused and stared down at the pencil and sheets of parchment inside. With trembling fingers, she took out a sheet, realizing it wasn't Wizarding parchment, but Muggle paper. At the top was a sketch of the orphanage with its name and address next to it.

She gasped and sank onto the mattress as a contraction gripped her. She clutched her stomach, breaking into a cold sweat and whimpering until the wave passed. The moment it began to subside, she reached for the paper and pencil and began to write.

Dear Tom,

Plees come to this orfanaj to get yor baby.

I luv you and I am sory.

Merope

She folded the note and set it on the table. She dropped the pencil back in the drawer and shut it when she heard approaching footsteps. A stern-looking young woman knocked and entered without waiting for an invitation.

"Hello," the woman said briskly. "I'm here to ask you some questions, so we can help you. If you're still here when it's your time," she waved a hand to indicate Merope's swollen middle, "we can help deliver your little one as well."

Merope clutched her belly again, her eyes widening with fear and pain.

"Oh dear. Seems your time is upon us." The orderly pulled the sheets back on the bed and settled Merope on the mattress, helping her lie back.

She poked her head out the door to shout for the midwife, then turned back to the frightened girl on the bed. She smiled reassuringly and nattered on about the cold night and horrible weather and reached out to let Merope squeeze her hands as the next pain took hold. "That's it, don't fight it," she instructed. "Your body knows what to do, and before you know it, you'll have a sweet baby in your arms. Are you hoping for a girl or a boy?"

"Boy," Merope panted. "A boy who looks like his papa."

"Is his papa handsome, then?"

Merope merely nodded, already in the throes of another contraction.

----------------------------

Within the hour, propped up by pillows, Merope held the most beautiful sight she'd ever seen. Her son. As she wished, he already bore a distinct resemblance to his father. She touched his dark hair with reverence.

"Have you a name for him, then?" the orderly asked, bustling about, straightening up after the birth.

"Tom," the exhausted girl rasped. "After his father." "His middle name is Marvolo, after my father."

"Tom Marvolo. Mighty unusual name, that. He'll grow into it though, I'm sure. What's his surname then?"

"Riddle."

"I'd best get that written down, lest we forget," said the orderly, wiping her hands on her apron. "Can you manage alone for a moment?"

Merope nodded, laying the baby on her lap, touching his tiny fingers. She did not even look up when the door clicked open and shut.

Alone with her baby, she crooned softly. "Your papa will love you. He'll come for you and take good care of you. And then he'll love me too." She pulled her wand out from where she'd hidden it under her pillow and began chanting under her breath. When the baby took on a reddish glow, she turned her wand on herself. "I love you, my baby. You're going to be special. And with this spell, I'll always be with you." She sniffed and wiped away a tear sliding over her bony cheek. She lifted her wand to her temple. "Avada Kedavra," she whispered.

A weak green light flashed from the tip of her wand, extinguishing what little spirit was left in her body. As she slumped backwards into the pillows, a tremulous pinkish glow left her and swirled around the room. Her wand rolled to the floor, coming to rest under the bed, lodging in a deep crack between the floorboards. Her essence returned to the bed and surrounded the infant. The baby opened his mouth in a gasping yawn and abruptly absorbed the hazy glow with a soft cry. Magical energy gusted through the room, and the note to Tom Riddle, Sr. drifted off the table and fluttered into the fire.

An owl waiting outside the window hooted mournfully and turned away, flying off into the dark night.