Disclaimer: I don't own it
Summary: During an afternoon stroll into London, Tom and Merope Riddle encounter someone who may just change their lives forever.
A Shadow Of The Future
Tom Riddle was happy.
He had everything he wanted. A steady job at a small steel factory, his own house just outside of London, and a beautiful young bride. And soon, he would be a father.
He loved Merope, his wife. His every thought revolved around her. He sometimes wondered how he had become so lucky as to have married such a lovely girl.
The details of their first meeting were hazy at times, but he could always remember the feeling that had overcome him.
It had been a terribly warm afternoon, or at least he thought so, he couldn't quite be sure. She had been there, in the road, had offered him some cold lemonade. As he drank deeply from the proffered cup, his eyes had caught hers. He had been entranced by the deep, dark brown orbs staring, so fetchingly, in opposite directions. He had known from that moment, that she was the one for him.
They had eloped they next day.
Soon after, they moved to London. He had gotten his job, and they had bought their little house. Ever since then, his life had been nothing but bliss.
Yes, there were times when his duties at the factory felt tedious. But when he came home and saw his wife's crooked smile as she poured him a drink, everything seemed to be right with the world.
He was enchanted by her.
And then, three months after they had run away from their oppressive lives in Little Hangleton, she had broke the news.
They were perched on the small sofa in their cozy little sitting room. Tom was running his long fingers through her lank hair.
"Tom," she had said.
"Tom, I-I'm...that is to say," she took a deep breath, "we're going to have a baby."
He was silent for a moment, and her eyes searched his. She bit her lip.
"That's wonderful!" He exclaimed. Joy filled him as he held her knobby hands in his own.
"We must go into London, we'll need a crib!"
She laughed, "Don't you think you're rushing things a little, Tom? I'm not due for another eight months."
He merely lifted her into the air and swung her around. She screamed in delight.
So Wednesday next was set as the day for the short trip into town.
As they ate breakfast that morning, however, something appeared to be bothering Merope. She stood in the small kitchenette, Tom's glass of orange juice in her hands, seemingly debating something internally. Tom looked up at her and grinned, his eyes alive with infatuation. Merope's face set, and she turned and emptied his mug into the sink.
"Something wrong with the juice, dear?"
"It's gone spoiled." She smiled somewhat nervously at him, then sat and began to fiddle with her food.
Later that afternoon found the couple on the road into town. It was a beautiful day, and they strolled leisurely down the path.
They passed the usual beggars and tramps. They were not wealthy themselves, though, and as such, could rarely afford to share their funds with the less fortunate. They averted their eyes and sped their pace.
One old lady was insistent, however. A gypsy, by the looks of her, she followed the young couple for far longer than the others. Tom grew impatient and turned to tell the little woman off. But her eyes seemed to grab him, and he couldn't seem to form a coherent thought.
She came forward and pressed his strong hands into her own withered ones. Closing her eyes, she began mumbling. Merope fidgeted beside him, and the gypsy's attention turned to her. The old woman set her hand on Merope's belly and gasped. Fear flooded her grey eyes.
She removed the hand from Merope's womb as though burned, placing it instead over Tom's face. He felt as though the world around him was falling away and everything went black.
As the light began to creep back into his vision he found himself standing next to a tall, thin man who looked more reptilian than human.
Where was he? How had he gotten here? Where was Merope?
"Excuse me, sir." he said to the snake-man.
If the stranger could hear him, he made no indication of it. Instead, he raised his arm, a short piece of wood clutched in his pale fingers.
"So," the man hissed.
A foggy memory of a wild scamp skulking around near his old home in Little Hangleton arose in Tom's mind at the sound of the voice.
"Benjy Fenwick has finally come into our grasp."
Tom looked over to where a young, broad shouldered man stood, bound by black cords. The lipless mouth curled up into a smirk. The raised arm waved and Benjy Fenwick exploded outward in a mass of blood and flesh.
Tom felt sick, and the scene shifted. He was in a dark, dingy room.
"My Lord," an arrogant looking woman with heavy lidded eyes purred as she knelt at the feet of the strange snake-man.
"My Lord, we have Meadows."
Three men entered the room, dragging a slight, older woman with them.
"Dorcas, my dear." The hiss came again.
Dorcas Meadows looked battered as she glared at the creature before her.
"Tom," she spat, "I never thought you'd turn out this way."
His stomach dropped, what had she called the snake-man?
The arm waved once again, and a purple flash of light separated Dorcas's head from her shoulders.
"I must thank Severus for that spell." The man cooed, his voice full of delight.
The room dissolved and Tom caught sight of a silver haired man with a long beard and half-moon spectacles standing face to face with the one who had murdered Benjy Fenwick and Dorcas Meadows.
"Tom Riddle," the man said, his voice laced with a hidden power.
"I feel as though I've failed you."
The scene melted yet again, and Tom felt cold.
'My son,' he thought.
It disgusted him, but he knew it was true, he could feel it. The old gypsy was showing him the future. He didn't understand how, but he could not deny it.
He gazed around at the pastel colored walls that were forming around him. A baby was crying and a slender, green eyed girl stood there before him, arms outstretched, guarding a crib.
His son entered the room, a chill air accompanying him. Tom closed his eyes. He could hear the woman pleading for her child's life, he could hear the taunt in his own son's voice. He saw a flash of green through his eyelids. He couldn't help but look at the body on the floor, even as his son moved forward to murder the infant. Tom closed his eyes once more as they filled with tears.
There was a whooshing in his ears, and suddenly he heard Merope's squeaky voice.
"Get your hands off my husband!"
Clarity crept into him, it was as though a fog were fading from his mind. The gypsy removed her wrinkled palm from his eyes.
Revulsion seized him as he saw Merope. She had tricked him. The little whore! And now, a monster dwelt inside of her, waiting to unleash it's evil upon the world. He turned back to the gypsy, the horror of what he had seen twisting in his gut. She stared at him a moment, and then she took her long, dirty fingernail and scratched a deep cut into the back of his hand. The pain was intense, yet he did not pull away. The gypsy finished, looked at him once more, and turned to head back down the path.
Tom gazed at the mark on his hand. A lightning bolt gleamed crimson upon it. He swallowed thickly before turning back to Merope. Confusion and fear were etched on her face as she chewed her bottom lip again.
Any feelings she had manipulated in him were gone. He didn't say a word as her eyes searched his. She gasped, her chest heaving suddenly.
Tom turned from her and ran, never looking back.
AN- This just kinda popped into my head, and I had to write it out. Anyway, Read and Review. I always love input.