Right! Well, this is my first Harry Potter fic! It took me quite a while to muster up the courage to write this, much less post it; it's quite hard for me to write HP fan fiction, as Jo already said everything needed to say. However, this was something that interested me greatly, so I decided to write in anyway, and suffer the consequences.
This is my take on Tom Riddle's story; why he became who he became.
Anyways, enjoy! Flamers shall be used to keep warm. (:
Great, spidery streaks of lightning briefly stretched across the black sky. Thunder rumbled ominously as the heavily pregnant woman rushed through the streets, clutching her bulging stomach as she went. The rain had soaked her filthy grey dress, and her dark hair hung in wet, greasy strands down her back, a few stray locks sticking to her fevered brow. Frantic eyes glanced around the empty streets, looking desperately for shelter of any kind.
Another bright flash of lightning illuminated the sky, causing the woman to cringe and look in the direction from which it emanated. To her great surprise - and relief- her now-wide eyes landed on a functioning orphanage. Though the building didn't look particularly classy, she decided it was her only option; she was dying, after all, and her son - for she knew in her heart it must be a boy- would need some place to stay.
Drawing herself up in a slightly more dignified position, she attempted to cross the cobbled road whilst retaining some form of formality, yet she quickly found herself doubled over and gasping for breath and grasping her swollen belly. The streetlamp near the orphanage flickered momentarily, as did her determination, however she quickly decided that she would continue to the orphanage and have her child. She refused to think about her certain impending doom, instead focusing on placing one foot in front of the other as her weary mind issued commands to the rest of her body.
She had made it! Her shaking legs had managed to carry her across the street, down the sidewalk, and up the four rickety steps. She now stood at the door to the orphanage, a mixture of rain, sweat, and tears trickling down her gaunt face. She raised her fist to knock on the large door, however as she lifted her thin arm, a sharp pain coursed through her person, causing her knees to buckle and her small frame to fall against the entryway. A pitiful whimper of pain worked its way past her trembling lips as she curled on her side and draped an arm over her protruding torso. Her head pounded and her thin frame shook as the cold wind raised gooseflesh on her ashen skin. More than anything, a sense of guilt caused her heart to clench painfully as the baby - her baby - kicked inside her womb. She had failed her precious child! Corpses were unable to birth children, and she was little more than a cadaver as it was! Her precious baby boy would never have the chance to see the world; never have the chance to feel the sunshine smiling down on his bonny face. He would never have the chance to know a parent's love. He would never have the chance to have a family of his own. He would be robbed of all the pleasures of life, and it would be her fault! A mother was supposed to protect her child, care for it, nurture it, and love it. She was causing its death before it even had a chance at life! No, she was not a mother; she was a murderer!
But wait! What was that noise? Was that the sound of rushing footsteps, or was her fevered mind merely playing a cruel trick? No! There was no mistaking that sound; someone was rushing down a hallway! Could she possibly draw their attention away from whatever important matter plagued them? The venture was probably in vain, however she would try anyway, for her unborn child.
"Help!" Her voice was cracked and small, so she cleared her throat and tried again. "Help me! Please, someone, help!" Her voice was still softer than she would've liked, yet it wasn't being drowned out by the pounding rain and rolling thunder, so she thought it a good try.
Was that a voice she heard? The footsteps had stopped momentarily, but now they had started again, more frantic than before. The woman held her breath as she waited for a response, any sign that she had been heard. Her pain-addled mind perceived it as hours, though in reality it was only a few minutes before the door was flung open and light flooded the front porch, illuminating the pregnant woman's small form.
"Miss? Miss are you hurt?" A voice floated down to her, yet she couldn't bring herself to answer with anything more than a groan. Moving her arm from her stomach, she managed to reposition herself so that the woman could see her distended abdomen.
A few unladylike words were issued from her rescuer's mouth before she finally said, "Don't you worry, Miss. We'll help you."
Small hands gripped the tops of her arms as she was half-carried half-dragged inside the rundown place. "Mary! Janie! I need some help here; we've got a pregnant one!" Apparently they weren't waiting for Mary or Janie's arrival, as she soon found herself being half-dragged down a long corridor. One hand released one of her arms, though it quickly returned and her journey was continued, this time into a room that looked as if it hadn't been thoroughly cleaned in a while."Up you get," The older woman grunted, helping the younger to lay on the table in a comfortable enough position. "Mary! Janie! Hurry it up!"
"Here, ma'm." Two girls chorused, handing the matron a bundle of towels and a bucket of warm water.
"Good girls. Now, help me with this girlie, would you?"
"Yes, ma'm."
"Of course, ma'm."
The pregnant girl was barely conscious now, the pain of her contractions nearly too much for her weakened body to bear. As a particularly strong one came around, she cried out, arching up off the bed as her hands clutched at the dingy sheets until her knuckles were white.
"Easy now," one of the girls said, mopping the woman's brow with a cool cloth. "It'll all be alright, you'll see."
Another whimper escaped her throat as she collapsed back onto the table."Please…help…"
"Don't worry, love; we'll help you." The older woman said as she nudged the girl's knees apart. "Let's have a look, eh? I won't hurt you, I swear." The girl complied, and the woman shot her a reassuring smile.
"How long, Madam Cole?""Not long at all; I s'pect she'll be ready to push in a mo'."
The woman in question gave an awful moan before coughing violently. When her breathing finally calmed, the girl nearest to her was able to spot the blood spattered on the corner of her mouth.
"M'am!" Janie cried, eyes blown wide with horror. "I don't think she's gonna make it!"
"What do you mean, child?" Madam Cole queried sharply.
"Look at 'er," Mary interjected, pointing at the girl's bony frame. "She can't weigh 8 stone soppin' wet!"
"And look," Janie said, pointing to the woman's heaving chest. "She can barely breathe! Not to mention she's coughin' up blood like some sort of possessed woman!"
Madam Cole frowned. "She 'as to make it, though! The baby's comin', and quick!"
The small woman coughed again, less violently. After taking a few deep breaths, she said, "Name him Tom. Tom Marvolo. Tom for my husband, Marvolo for my father. Please…"
"Now, now, none of that! We can't 'ave you givin' up, not when the baby's almost here!"
"I can't…"
"You 'ave to! Now, push!"
"I-"
"Push!"
The woman mustered up all the strength she could and gave on mighty push. A sharp cry escaped her lips as she felt the baby move.
"Good, now again!'
Again, the woman gathered up her strength and pushed, this time only whimpering as the baby moved farther out.
"Once more, 'atta girl!"
She gave one last mighty push, screaming as she did so, before falling back on the table, head colliding with the cold metal. Her world was hazy, only vague shapes appearing before her eyes. Nebulous noises assaulted her ears as she strained to hear what was occurring around her.
"Quick, something sharp…Clean cut, that's it….Good, now thump it…"
A strangled wail rose up to greet the air, and the woman sighed in relief. Her boy was safe. Her baby was born, and was now in good hands - well, as good as hands as she could get him in.
"Let…hold him…" She managed, finding the strength to reach out her arms. A small smile twisted up the corners of her lips as a warm bundle was pressed against her. Clutching him to her breast, she murmured, "My little Tom…"
Then her chest rose once more and fell as a chilling death rattle left her lips. Merope Riddle was dead, her boy-child clutched in her arms.
So, did you like it? Love it? Hate it? Want me to shut up now?
Review, and let me know! ^_^