A Very Human Triumph

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter any more than I have the title deeds to the moon; I am actually getting poorer in writing this in that I am neglecting my studies.

Author's Note: When inspiration strikes… write it down.

Prologue

Dear Nephew,

I cannot tell you how pleased I was to receive your letter. It is a rare thing these days for a young man such as yourself to write to an old dotard like me asking about our family history! Our peculiar physiology has been enough for certain members of our familia to prefer to ignore our heritage (how is your mother, by the way, still as thick as goblins with the Minister?) in an attempt to quash the rumours that continue to spread about us.

You told me in your letter that you had found a muggle family with our name – country squires, that sort of thing – but no record of any wizarding Riddles beyond my father. That is because, dearest nephew, my father did not want you or anyone else to know the facts beyond what he gave. He was ashamed of his heritage, a heritage that still lingers in the faces of some areas of the family. I am, of course, referring to myself. I realise that your mother doesn't want you to know anything of our past, but ignorance is only bliss to those without brains, so I will do my best to enlighten you.

My father, Tiberius Riddle, was born without any of the – how does your mother put it? – Physical defects that my grandfather had inherited from my great-grandfather. Only in a certain paleness of the skin did he resemble his forbears. He felt ashamed of his ancestry and attempted to destroy all evidence relating to our male line. He was so very proud when your mother was born – beautiful Aurelia. He was less pleased when I made my entrance into the world – ugly Charles – a pertinent reminder of the origins of the Riddle family.

I regret to say it, but everything your mother's enemies hurl at our family is true. Except that I am a reclusive, half-witted monster. Just because I choose to live in an isolated cottage and have some interesting physical characteristics, does not mean I am either unintelligent or monstrous. I would like to make that clear. Everything I am preparing to you is the truth and none of your mother's lies will change that.

To begin with, I must state that we are descended from Salazar Slytherin, through a certain Merope Gaunt. She had intercourse a muggle named Tom Riddle and had a child by him. Beyond that, nothing is certain. What is certain is that Tom abandoned her and their progeny ended up growing up in a London orphanage. That orphan grew up to be known as Lord Voldemort. Ah yes, that made your breath hitch, didn't it? Voldemort conducted many experiments upon himself and at the time of his death he reassembled nothing so much as a snake, with livid red eyes, a flat, serpentine face and chalk white skin.

I have in my possession, the memoirs of my great-great-great-grandfather – Voldemort's son. Presumably they were dictated in his later years to a close friend or family member. I suspect that it may have been his wife, but I cannot say for certain. Regardless, they are authentic and are a record of a very human triumph. A copy of the manuscript should arrive in a few days – for I had to use the post office, my own aged owl, Archimedes, not being up to the task of delivering such a volume.

Your loving uncle,

Charles Christopher Riddle