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She knew, she always knew, it was wrong. She knew every word from his lips was a lie. She knew none of it was real. But she continued believing it. The illusion was best. Better than the grey that engulfed her without it.
The false words, the fabricated love, living the life that was stolen from another. A far cry from her own. Words were spoken sweetly, affectionately, nothing like the harsh coarse yells of home. Hands caressed her skin, so gentle and soft and she would always be reminded of the bitter hateful hands that grasped her too hard, that left the bruises of black and blue.
The elegant make up that drew out her features could not quite disguise the simple foolish girl who could not stand up for anything. And her eyes still reflected the same self -loathing and pity.
She was weak and she knew it. She didn't want to be, didn't mean to be, but she was. She hated herself for it. She hated that she would never truly be loved, that she was an unlovable creature of no talent. She hated how the only way to be loved was by forcing a person with enchantments and potions. She knew deep down in the place she refused to acknowledge that her love was unrequited. Would always be unrequited.
She knew she was nothing more than a whore, the women of a man who would not love her. She hated that her charade had to end. Needed too, it was wrong, far far too wrong to keep this thing, this sham, this travesty of love going on for any longer. She had to let him go.
She wished like she had many a time, that she could be a normal girl. One with a caring mother and a kind father and an adoring brother. She wished she had a talent, had something to make them proud, but she didn't, she wouldn't.
She felt that she no longer had a soul. She'd sworn she'd never be like her father- a man who used force to get what he wanted. But, she was. She didn't hurt him, she made him love her, a slave to her will. It was not love. It never would be anything more than an idle fantasy.
But now soulless girl, so far from the girl who dreamed of a better world, she had finally come to terms with her conscience. Her conscience came in the form a child, that even before birth she knew she hated. The child wreaked everything, shattered the facade and made her face the truth, the child like a mirror reflected her many mistakes and downfalls.
She was fuelled by self- hatred and powered by the desire for it all to end. She turned to her beloved and lifted the enchantment. Shock registered in his eyes as he gave her a look of fearful loathing. Turning on his heel, he fled the room, leaving the young pregnant girl behind.
As she watched him leave, she was without a word, unable to feel unable to cry. He didn't know, he never knew, as he left her, he took all that was left of her wretched and broken heart. She couldn't feel, she couldn't breathe, she couldn't function.
Most days she couldn't even move. The growing baby, the ugly thing inside her, moved and kicked and developed. Most mothers would be happy, excited even and their husbands would gush anxiously about fatherhood; but she had no husband, she was alone. And she all she ever felt was a despairing sadness. It was like a thousand dementors all refusing to kiss her, to grant her the peaceful oblivion of death.
She stumbled; she fell; pathetic and weak. Crawling in the gutters like some drowning rat. Begging and starving, she cried in the corner for a whole manor of things. For death and peace, and food and sleep. She slept in the dark wet alley, woken rudely by filthy men who jeered and laughed at her. Pointing fingers at her swollen belly and calling her whore. She shrugged them off and cowered. They continued toward her and she broke.
No time for textbook curses, wands, no time even for fists. Magic exploded out of her, brightly lighting the dark sky. But this magic was from despair and desperation; it was dark and evil. The men were left tortured and abused the outward reflection of her own inward feelings. She choked on the acrid smell of evil and something within her tore. Her mutilated damaged, love scarred soul punctured itself, breaking into many ugly bits blackened by bad memories. Biting her lip to keep from crying out in pain, she crept out of the alley. Her lip was bleeding but she didn't feel it. She couldn't feel anything.
Images flashed in her mind- her father yelling, her brother hitting her, toms face as he realized what she was. She didn't want to be that person. She didn't want to be associated with Merope Gaunt.
She didn't want to be a witch. A gleam of gold, the last thing that tied her to her past; the locket. Walking into the dodgy part of Diagon Alley, she wandered into the first store she found. The man running the store was greedy but she couldn't be bothered arguing the point. Leaving as quickly as she could, she entered the muggle side of London.
For the first time she noticed the bright banners; proclaiming a happy new year. She snorted, happy? Nothing in her life had ever been happy, and the only think that had been remotely close to happy had been a lie. She chose not to dwell as she turned away. Her eye caught her own reflection in a store front window, and she did not immediately recognize herself.
Her dirty robes were soaked with muggle filth, and she thought what her wryly father would say, related to Salazar Slytherin? She was not good enough to even speak his name. Her hair was matted and without care and her young, once elegantly made up face was cracked and old. Her belly was ugly and swollen. Again she thought of what her father would say; carrying the child of a mother- she was not worthy to be a witch, let alone one related to so many old pure families. She could of had talents but had laid them to waste when she had consented to bed a muggle.
But she was done with all of them. No father, no mother, no brother, no Husband, no magic, alone. The baby kicked reminding her, she was not truly alone. The rain poured. Snow whisked about. She fell in agony. The Pain, the blackness, engulfing her as she struggled toward a nearby building. It was drab and grey like it's surroundings and a sign on the door proclaimed it was an orphanage. She knocked, her hands shaking with cold. The heavy black rain mingling with tears. Her body Collapsed and she hit the hard cold concrete and wished bitterly that she would never have to get up.
A young girl answered the door staring shocked, at Merope's ragged and forlorn form. She pulled up Merope and noticing as she did, how skeletal her wrists were and how sagged and tired her eyes looked. Thinking at first that the only thing this girl before her needed was a hot meal, shower and rest, she then noted how the girl's body was rounded at the hips. She was with child evidently. Her theory was confirmed when the other girl grasped her tightly and whispered hoarsely "The baby is coming".
"We'll help you" answered Mrs Cole with a kind smile guiding her into the dry warm hall. "What's your name love?" she inquired. "Merope" was the others girl quiet reply. Merope's voice was thin and weak and she sounded on the brink of death. Mrs Cole lead her into a small single bedded room, obviously it was designed to hold one of the orphans. Merope lay down on the soft bed, and instantly blacked out.
She was bleary eyed and unsure of what she was seeing. Another woman was in the room. She was older and sweet looking, motherly was the word that came to mind. "You're about to have your baby" this new woman whispered to Merope excitedly, or at least she seemed to whisper, something was going on with her hearing as well as her vision.
"Push" this woman said in an angelic voice. Ok, Merope told the voice, the voice was her friend. Something hurt, tearing her insides out and Merope cried out in pain. The voice assured her it was normal, it would be okay... But it wasn't Merope thought. She was alone, weakened, with a baby. How would she raise a baby she wondered?
She didn't have the best parenting examples to go by. Her father was a madman, angry, hurting. He was the one in charge of punishment. He'd hit, and curse and cut and bite, he was the one who raped and ravaged. He was cruel, he taught his son to be cruel, because he loved his son, because he's son was the embodiment of him, in his very essence, evil.
And her mother, had been neglectful an uncaring. Her mother used to be the one who got punished. But then her mother died and it was Merope who was punished. And Tom, oh dear sweet, naive Tom. He was gone. He could not help. He would not help. He did not care for his child. He would not. He could not. He was not person holding her hand was the young girl, who had answered the door. Perhaps she could leave the child with the people here. But then where would she go? She had no home, she had no life, nothing to live for.
The voice interrupted her thoughts, "It's a boy" it exclaimed gleefully. She had a boy. "I hope he looks like his father" she said with difficulty. She did hope he resembled her sweet and loving Tom. She wanted her son to be every bit as beautiful as his father. "What are you going to name him?" the voice asked. "Tom" Merope said breathlessly thinking of Toms piercing smile. "For his father" she added. Thinking of fathers she decided that she should perhaps honour her own. Not that he deserved it, but she felt a compelling need to do it. "Marvolo, for his middle name, after my father"
"Tom Marvolo. It has a nice ring, a nice name, and a last name dear?" said the voice again. "Riddle. It's his father's surname" Merope answered. It was her last name too, her and her beloved were one. They shared the same name. But no, she remembered, Tom her beloved left. He walked away. She was filled with anger and sadness. Why was she always so alone? The voice spoke softly "Just rest now dear" and a calloused hand caressed her forehead gently. Merope remembered how Tom used to stroke her forehead as she drifted off.
Merope dreamt. She was married to a man, they had a son. They were happy. She saw them on their sons first day of school, kissing him farewell as he boarded a Scarlett steam train. She saw her husband holding her hand and telling her "we'll see him soon" but then her dream changed into a more real vision.
The world was black and ravaged. Dementors fog filled the air and everyone looked scared. She saw the same Scarlett steam train. But instead of the happy excited atmosphere she'd felt before, it was apprehensive and fearful. She saw a man, with red slitted eyes and a dark dark soul walking down the platform. "Hello mummy" he said menacingly. "This is what I am" he told her calmly as the mothers and fathers around him pulled their children from sight. She watched as green light flashed, and the station was filled with frightened cries of children, and the screams of adults as their flesh peeled as they were tortured. "I am the greatest wizard in the world"
Merope woke with a start. Another nightmare, but this one had seemed so real. Even as she woke she couldn't shake the feeling that she had done something terrible. Something so wrong and evil. She reached out her hand across the bed to rouse Tom, he always soothed her after a nightmare, but her hand felt nothing but cool air and she remembered were she was.
A baby's cry could be heard. It was her baby. She did not want to look; scared she would see red eyes like the man in her dream. But she felt compelled to. Her baby was beautiful, perfect, a carbon copy of his father. His eyes were not red, but Merope detected something rotten in them. Something off, like milk gone sour. This was not a normal baby. He had a dark aura about him, similar to her fathers.
What had she created?
Merope willed herself to cry, but did have the energy to do so. She wondered if she would be strong enough to do what she needed, to kill the abomination, the thing that was her child. She could not, she was weak. That was when she felt truly and deeply that there was nothing left for her. She didn't want to see the world be ruined because of her and her foolishness. She did not want to see the man her son would grow up to be. She wished and hoped for her husband. But he was gone, as were the two ladies who had attended her during the birth. She was alone.
She closed her eyes and dreamed of a better place. A sweet melodic voice asked her if she would like to go there. Merope's heart was filled with longing. "Even if it means leaving your life behind?" the wind seemed to ask. "I have nothing to live for" Merope told it. "You have a son" it reminded her. "I have a living reminder of my sins, and my stupidity. I cannot live for that" Merope said decidedly. "Then let go" she heard as the world disappeared and faded to grey.
She was lying on a bed at an orphanage, her sweet perfect son lay at her feet, and outside the door she could hear the two women discussing her. She asked herself, can I leave this behind? Should I stay? She felt that she should stay, but she felt equally that she could not. She was not brave enough to stay, to be alone. I love you Tom she thought, unsure of which Tom she directed it at.
Her eyes looked their last and she went to a place where she was loved.
Her son came along, years later. She had watched him throughout it all. She had seen him kill and torture innocents. She had seen him be mirthless and ruthless. She had seen him weep as young boy. She had watched him descend into the darkness. She had seen how leaving him alone and loveless had killed him. She had seen how she had created the monster, not by giving birth to it, but by leaving, and not raising it. She had always wished for a different outcome, she'd wished she could go back and fix it all. Then when she saw him battle in his last fight, she was nothing but glad that he was done, that it was over.
She did not know what had happened to him when he'd first entered the place where the dead people live. It took a while for her to go and find him, but when she did, she was so amazed. She had watched her son grow, she had watched as he broke himself into pieces, but here, whether it was heaven or some kind of hell, or none of the above, he was as he should have been. He was healed, soul whole and heart unbroken. He was the man that she should have raised all those years ago.
Merope Gaunt welcomed her son into her arms and finally Tom Marvolo Riddle understood what Dumbledore was always talking about. Tom Riddle learnt true magic. The magic that had then and always will be described as love, the magic that lingers in a kiss, a hug, a kind word.
And while love and time can heal all wounds, love is characterised by faults. The ability to love unconditionally regardless of those faults is one of the most powerful forces in the entire world. Even now as the Wizarding World rebuilds itself, it is reminded constantly of the power of love. Because all wizards, witches and squibs and even those fantastic creatures like Dobby the Brave House Elf, of the wizarding world know that the only reason they are alive is because of love.
They are alive because Lily and James Potter loved Harry. They are alive because Frank and Alice Longbottom would rather be tortured into insanity than sacrifice their son. They are alive because of the whole Weasley family, who were kind enough to take any stragglers in. They are alive because of the actions of Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, how they always stuck with Harry till the very end. They are alive because Dobby the Brave was happy to die for the cause. They are alive because Aberforth Dumbledore did not give up. They are alive because Severus Snape loved Lily Evans. They are alive because Dumbledore's Army stuck together to the end. They are alive because many brave people, many great people sacrificed themselves. They are alive because of the Hufflepuffs, the Slytherins, the Ravenclaws and the Gryffindors, because in the end, they four houses united. They are in simple terms, alive because of love.
Some say, Tom Marvolo Riddle never knew love, but he did. It was Lord Voldemort that did not know love, he was afraid of it, and he didn't understand it. Tom was not ignorant of love, but Lord Voldemort overlooked it. The Great Harry Potter never killed Tom Marvolo Riddle. The true murderer of Tom Marvolo Riddle was Lord Voldemort- the imposter who wore Tom Marvolo Riddle's face.
The story of Tom Marvolo Riddle and his parents Merope Gaunt and Tom Riddle JR, is nothing more that tragic ill-fated romance.