This is my first one-shot, about Merope coming to the orphange to give birth.

This is from Mrs. Cole's point of view (she's the matron of the orphanage)

ENJOY:) and please review

**I do not own harry potter or any of the characters**

11 years ago…

I sigh and wearily brush thin strands of hair out of my eyes as I fumble with the keys. Some snowflakes land on my long eyelashes, and I blink my eyes rapidly, shaking them off.

"Have a nice New Year's Eve, Miss Cole," calls a smiling passerby, "Make sure those kids are nice and warm!"

I throw him a merry smile, and laugh, "Don't I always? Have a nice evening, Mr. Butler!"

He waves at me, and then continues walking through the heavy piles of snow. As I'm still looking for those darn keys, I idly wonder if he'll make it home safe. It's quite late, and the weather is nasty.

Freezing temperature, harsh winds. I shiver as I finally get the door open, my cheeks flushed from the cold.

"Miss Cole, did you get the –"

"Yes, yes, yes," I answer, waving my hand impatiently, "Right over here."

I hand her the boxes of food for the feast tomorrow, and I inwardly smile. The kids are going to love this! The kitchen staff and I had decided we don't often have surprises for the orphans, and on New Year's Day, they badly needed one. Tomorrow, we were going to make the biggest feast this orphanage has ever seen!

The young girl nods, and takes off towards the kitchen with the food in her slender arms.

Unwrapping myself from layers of coats, I shake my head briskly, ridding myself of the flakes of snow that landed on me. As I'm on my way to the orphans' rooms, I list all the things I need to remember.

The roof needs repairing from that snowstorm a few days ago, I need to send Mr. Berks another letter requesting more books, there are more clothes that need to be ordered, and… what else?

"Oh, Millie! Where is that Millie?" My voice rings with annoyance as I call for that girl. Where is she when I need her? The girl appears out of breath, her hair almost pulled out of her bun, and her eyes glistening with worry. What is it now?

"Miss Cole!" Millie squeaks, "The boys! Dan and Robbie! They were arguing, then screaming, and now they're punching and kicking each other!" Her hands cover her face as she groans in frustration.

A fight? This was unacceptable. And on New Year's Eve? I don't think so. A harsh scowl appears on my face as I brush past that silly girl and march upstairs to the boys. Whipping the door open, I come face to face with a room full of the orphans, some are huddled in the corner, and most are in a circle, cheering or whooping at the fight. As several kids catch sight of me, they instantly stop and nudge each other, whispering.

"WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?" My voice booms, and I glare at the little faces staring back at me. I see little Emily's tear-streaked face, Bob's crooked grin, and several other frightened faces. The room is deadly silent.

I have only been working here for about 10 months, but these kids know authority when they see it. My gaze falls onto Dan and Robbie, still scrambling to their feet. They are breathing heavily, some scratches on their faces, and I see there clothes are ripped.

I strode forward and grab both of their collars firmly, but not harshly.

"What are you boys thinking?" I lead them out the door, and the other kids make way for us, "A fight? Look at you! Only ten years old, and fighting! And your clothes! I'm going to have to fix those for you, and no, mister, you're not getting away so easily. No snacks or cookies or punch or juice or candy for you two! In fact, I may not even let you join our feast we're having tomorrow! Yes, a feast! Don't you look at me like that, Dan, you deserve it! Now both of you…"

I ramble on and on until they are both shut in their rooms, feeling ashamed of themselves. Millie is behind me, sighing in relief.

I let out a noise of aggravation.

"A fight! On New Year's Eve!" I repeat, still seething with anger, "Of all things…"

After all the children are hustled into bed, I double check with the kitchen staff to see if the feast for tomorrow is ready. I do everything possible around the shabby building until I'm utterly exhausted.

After a quick toast and merry conversation with my fellow workers, I bid them good night, and we all make our ways to our rooms.

What a busy day it was, I think to myself as I slowly comb my hair. I know it's a bit pointless to comb your hair before you sleep, but it soothes me, and it gives me time to think about things.

After my hair protests about being harassed by my brush, I get rid of the light, and find my way under the cozy blankets…

Several hours after sleep has conquered me, I hear a soft sound, so soft I almost didn't hear it. But as I'm a light sleeper, it captures my attention.

Tap, tap, tap…

Tap…tap…

What in the world? I pull my robe over my nightgown, and turn on some hallway lights as I rather sleepily make my way to the door. Who could be here, at an orphanage…at this hour?

I groggily try to open my eyes as I pull open the door. The wind outside howls fiercely, and the shockingly cold feeling is like a slap to my skin.

Who would come here…now…in this weather? My eyes squinting through the harsh weather, I tremble violently. Something catches my eye. I peer down at the doorstep, and there she is.

A girl, hardly older than me. From the looks of her, she's a beggar, or a whore. I can see from her bulging belly that she's pregnant, but I can also see that she is at the height of starvation, and she will soon die.

The girl's hair is a wild nest, her hands so small and dirty, and I can't believe a girl her age could be so tiny. The minimum amount of clothing on her back is so thin, and in this weather, she should have been dead already.

For a few moments, I gaze down at the pitiful creature at my feet. Thoughts of compassion and sadness are swirling in my head, and I close my eyes briefly. Then I lean down slowly, and use both of my hands to grip the girl's shoulders.

She raises her head with immense effort, and I think of how much strength it must have taken for her to crawl her way here and knock on the door.

I hear an agonizingly small moan coming from her, and I softly croon, "Shh, shh, shh," as I would to one of my children.

Knowing that it would be impossible for this girl to stand up, I glance back into the house, and call for Millie and the others.

Even though I've had other beggars come to our door, I'd never seen one so young and pitiful as this girl. But apparently, she doesn't shock the others, as they solemnly help me carry her to the room we reserve for the sick.

We lay the girl across a small white bed as she trembles so violently. Then I remember that she's pregnant, and suddenly, from the way she's groaning and whimpering, I know she's going to give birth.

Oh, God! This dying girl lies here, in the dead middle of the night, and she's about to give birth! I quietly order for the necessary arrangements. The others fetch hot water, some cloth, and I sit beside the girl, stroking her hair, and murmuring comforting words to her.

I've been trained to handle births, but I've not had a lot of experience. The others guide me, as I go through all the steps.

The girl's eyes are fluttering; her hands wildly grip mine, although with not much strength, and she grunts and whimpers in pain. My heart cries out to her, although I'm not usually one for sob stories.

This poor dying, starving, and beaten girl is using all the strength her timid body contains to push that baby out, and I know how much it must take out of her to do that impossible task.

But she does it, and the baby, a boy, comes out eventually, crying as one usually does. As I hand the baby to someone behind me, I notice that his wailing doesn't sound quite the same as other babies' cries do. I brush the thought aside as I study the exhausted mother.

She lies there, her body limp from the effort, and she takes short quick pants that worry me. My ears catch a few words. She speaks quietly, and to no one in particular, she murmurs, "I hope he looks like his papa…"

At first, I think that's a bizarre thing to think of when you're dying, but as I peer closer at her, I realize that it's something a mother would hope, for she was no beauty. An idle thought wanders into my mind, and I wistfully wish I could know her story. What had happened to her? Where did she come from? Who was the father?

I reprimand myself quickly, for this was none of my concern. But then again, after she died, there would be no one to speak up for her child, her orphan. It would be good to know, good to put into the kid's record file.

Slowly, her eyes open, and I gasp as flashing dark eyes pierce mine. As we stare at each other, I can see her looking at me with intense…intense what? I'm not sure what the emotion is, but I think she's making a decision. Then I see desperation, and at last determination.

She opens her mouth, and a small noise comes out from her throat. Then she reaches out slowly, reaching for my hand. I stumble over my feet to reach her.

"A…A boy?" she croaks.

I nod silently.

She closes her eyes for a while, and I begin to speculate if she's dead, or asleep, but then she abruptly speaks to me.

"He…he is to be named Tom," the girl's eyes suddenly fill with pain, from memories I guess. I suddenly wonder why, but this is no time to be asking. She forces herself to go on, "…Tom…for his father."

The girl glances up at me, almost sharply, as if to make sure I heard. I nod again and repeat her words, "Tom. For his father."

She coughs for a few moments, licks her dry lips, and then whispers, "Tom Marvolo…Marvolo for my father."

I nod eagerly for the third time, but I'm confused. Marvolo? What a strange name…I've never heard of it before. Perhaps she came from some circus? They always have funny names…Marvolo…

Snapping out of my thoughts, I refocus on the dying girl in front of me. She gazes at me, and breathes, "Riddle…His name is Tom Marvolo Riddle."

And with that, she gives a strange shudder, and closes her eyes, satisfied. After that, she never opened her eyes again. Soon, the girl's breathing grows more and more shallow, until at last, it stops.

I rest my face in my hands. After several minutes, I glance at the clock. Gave birth in one hour, then dead in another. Sighing, I lift myself from the creaking chair. The poor girl, died starving. But I'm glad she told me her child's name, for I know it means a lot to her.

After the body was cleared, we set up a bed for the baby. After washing and feeding him, he lays sleeping, breathing very softly, he's almost silent. Millie and I spend a moment, hovering above the baby, lost in our own thoughts about what just happened.

Finally, Millie breaks the silence, and whispers to me, "Poor baby. We know nothing about him or his family. What are we going to do?"

I glance at her, pausing, then I say softly, "Riddle. That's his name," I walk soundlessly towards the door, "Maybe some Riddle relative will come by and collect him. Keep an eye out, will you?"

And we did keep an eye out. Waited years for some information about this strange boy. But no Tom or Marvolo ever came looking for him. No Riddle ever came looking for him. Not until 11 years later, when Tom Riddle received his very first visitor.

Well, that's my one-shot :) Tell me what ya think about it, and reviews mean a lot to mee :)