Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize
A/N: Written for the Review's Lounge Birthday Challenge
It seems that today will be my first child's birthday. The thirty-first of December. It is not the day that I would have chosen. The last day of the year is so often dull and dreary. Birthdays are much better in the summer. I always had my birthday in the summer. But birthdays cannot always be chosen.
I've always loved birthdays, even though I was never allowed to celebrate them. I knew what they were, of course. Every year on October the 15th Father ordered me to bake Morfin a cake and set a live trap to catch another snake for Morfin to play with. Morfin was allowed a birthday because he was a boy and he could do magic.
I have never even known when my birthday was, but that didn't matter. I when I was little I would pick a day to celebrate. I would sneak out of the house and make myself a cake out of sand. I would sing quietly to myself, praying my father wouldn't hear and ruin the celebration. I drew little sand candles on the top and made a wish before blowing them out. I dreamed of the day that I could share a birthday celebration with someone. I knew my family hated me. I was a girl, and too close to being a squib. I didn't ever share my birthday with them. I wanted to share my birthday with someone who loved me.
When I first saw Tom Riddle, I knew he was the one I wanted to celebrate my birthday with. I knew he could love me the way my family did not. The problem was getting him to notice me. And so, on the day that had been my birthday for several years by then, the one that made me eighteen, I stopped Tom on his way home and asked if he would like a drink of water. He drank and immediately fell in love with me. The first question I asked him after we were married was when he was born.
We spent almost two months together. They were the happiest months of my life. Tom loved me, and I loved him, and it seemed that what we had could last forever. I was sure that he would love me as I was by then, without the potion, and what was more, I was carrying his child. If love of me could not compel him to stay, then love of the baby we had created would. So I decided to free him.
I wanted the day to be special. I planned for weeks how it would be. I would give him the antidote and the news of the baby on his birthday. What better birthday gift than news that you would be a father. And complete freedom of course. I brewed the antidote for almost a week before the day, and then put it inside a chocolate. I couldn't tell him that I'd been giving him something in his orange juice every morning since we were married. I was ashamed of what I had done. Besides, if he didn't know that his love was "my fault" then he wouldn't know that he wasn't truly in love with me.
The morning of his birthday I got up early. I had left the antidote out to cure overnight, and I still needed to wrap it. I felt Tom's solid warmth against my back and wished that I would never have to leave this bed, that nothing would ever change. I knew it wasn't right though. I had to free him.
An hour later I heard Tom get up. I took a deep steadying breath and went upstairs his birthday present in hand. Tom looked up from his breakfast at the table.
"What's the matter, dear?" he asked me. I shook my head violently, denying that anything was wrong, but at the same time feeling the tears well up in my eyes.
"Happy birthday, Tom," I whispered. I set the wrapped box down next to him and retreated to the other side of the room.
"What's this? I told you I didn't want anything. You know we don't have the money." Again, I just shook my head, not trusting myself to speak. Finally, I gestured towards the package and mouthed, "open it." He looked at me strangely and opened his mouth to protest, but I cut him off.
"I'm giving you the only thing you truly need," I swallowed and hurried on, "Your freedom."
"Dearest, whatever can you mean? I already have my freedom. Besides freedom doesn't come in such a small box." He was attempting a joke so I gave him a watery smile.
"Just open it," I pleaded. He held my gaze for several moments. I could see the love shining in his eyes. I held his gaze as long as I could. After a few minutes, I blinked and waved my hand at the box.
"Please Tom, just open it." He shrugged and started pulling the paper off the box. I watched how he slit open the tape, careful not to rip the paper. It was the little things like that I would miss. Not that he would leave me. He wouldn't. Not with the baby on the way.
He opened the box and pulled out the knitting that was on the top.
"A-A sweater? But it's a little sm… Wait. Merope? Are you?" I nodded.
"That's wonderful! We're going to have a baby. Oh, Merope, we should celebrate."
"Wait. Tom. You haven't finished opening your present." His eyes returned to the box. He reached in and pulled out a single chocolate.
"Oh Merope, you shouldn't have. I'll treasure it forever. I won't eat it."
"No, please Tom," I pleaded. The tears were coursing down my cheeks from the suspense and fear. "Eat it."
"If you want," he said. He raised the chocolate to his mouth and took a bite.
From that moment on I ceased to exist for Tom. All the happy birthdays I'd dreamed of having were gone. The only thing I had left from him was the baby I carried. It was the only reason I had to live.
The months went by and I went from poor to poorer. I traveled by foot to London, where I knew I could scrounge some food and perhaps get some money. I have been here ever since. And so, this morning, when I woke up in shelter of a recessed doorway, and found that my water had broken, I knew that my baby would be born in London.
It is not a bad place for a baby to be born. There is plenty of food in the garbage that is perfectly good, and while there isn't much for shelter, it is better than being out in the wild. But I knew I would need help with the baby. I knew nothing of how to give birth, and I didn't want to mess it up. I didn't want to kill it, no matter what the baby's father did. I began to search for a place that would take me in and let me have the baby in safety.
As I walked I noticed, more than ever, the surrounding buildings. It distracted me from the ever-growing pains in my belly and gave me something to occupy the time. The bricks were dark and glum. Along the bottom of the walls there was a pile of grayish-white snow, snaking around the bushes and jumping over the walks that led up to the stairs. Even the metal plaques that held the numbers of the houses seemed dull. A drop of rain plopped down beside me, then another. Soon I was drenched. The rain began to mingle with the tears streaming down my face. I was so worried that I wouldn't find a suitable place to have the baby, and it would die quickly if exposed to the cold, soaking rain.
I searched for nearly an hour before finding a nice, respectable-looking orphanage. The rain had turned to snow and the wind was bitterly cold. I staggered up the steps. There was a large brass knocker on the door and I reached up to knock, once, twice… but before I could knock a third time pain swamped my senses and I doubled over my huge belly.
"Just a little longer, little one, I promise," I whispered.
"Ere, what's a girl like you doing out in this storm?" I heard somewhere above me.
"Please," I stopped a moment to catch my breath, "Please let me in." The pain receded and I could finally stand upright. The woman silhouetted in the door gasped.
"You're pregnant!" she exclaimed. I opened my mouth to reply that I most certainly knew that, but the pain swept through me again, and the words never made it out of my mouth. The woman called for help and then led me in.
I spent the next hour wailing in pain on a bed in the orphanage. I had wanted the child so badly, I never thought about what it would take to get it. It took so much pain, both emotional and physical. I wasn't sure I could deal with that any longer.
Finally, with one last push, the baby left my body. I tensed, listening for the little wail that babies always make when they are first born… and it didn't come. I grew numb. All of that, and the baby hadn't lived.
"It's a boy," the woman said. I let out the breath I had been holding. She would have told me if he was dead, wouldn't she?
"Thank Merlin," I whispered, "I hope he looks like his papa." The woman looked at me strangely but must have decided not to comment.
"What will you name him, Miss?" one of the young servant girls asked.
"Tom," I said, "Tom Riddle after his father."
"What about a middle name? A child needs a middle name of his own, especially when he's named after his father." I thought a moment.
"Marvolo. After my father." I breathed. I was so tired. I closed my eyes, just for a moment, just to get some rest. In the morning I would wake up, and Tom and I would begin a new life together. We would find a home to live in, and he would grow up there. I would teach him what it is to be loved, and to love others. He will never have to go through what I did, I promised myself. And every year on December the thirty-first, we would celebrate his birthday.
Merope Gaunt-Riddle died an hour later, due to complications of the birth.
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