Riddle Me This
A Harry Potter Fanfiction
a/n: Hello. This is my very first Harry Potter fanfiction up here, despite being a potterhead for hears uvu This was originally all written for a friend in school, so it may have a couple of mistakes as it is not beta read or anything. I will try to update every two or three days. Leave a review or a favourite though, it really keeps me from procrastinating too much!
PROLOGUE
A chilly wind blew harshly as the downpour of rain battered the windows of all nearby buildings. People were, if they were fortunate enough, inside, painfully oblivious to the unforgiving weather that raged on outside their doors. The shops were all closed, and the streetlamps had been lit a fair while ago, their light illuminating the otherwise darkened streets. Lights flickered from every nearby building and smoke billowed from the chimneys, signifying fires had been lit in fireplaces to protect against the cold.
Cheers and yells could be heard from the pubs and the ballrooms, even the churches as people prepared to celebrate the New Year. The entire town was still dressed in it's festive Christmas colours, and lights shaped like reindeer and bells hung from every nook and cranny, their light flickering behind raindrops. The town would soon quiet down as people warmed up by the fire, counting down until 1927.
A young girl, possibly the only person out, trudged along the damp road, hand clamped around her wooden wand tightly as she struggled onward. Dirt streaked her cheeks and ash covered her hands. She shouldn't have come here, she should have stayed. Yet everything would be so wrong if she had gone back. Her husband despised her, her grandfather ignored her, and her father… well, he wouldn't be best pleased that she was pregnant, lest of all with a muggle's child.
A single steamy breath lit up the air in front of her as the girl looked over her shoulder and then directly ahead once more, analysing her surroundings. All she could tell was that she was a long, long way away from her hometown. Further away than she had ever been before.
Coughing, the girl wiped her mouth with a plain white handkerchief dotted with small dots of red blood, brown hair plastered to the sides of her thin face. The poor girl couldn't help but feel a little overwhelmed. This place was nothing like Little Hangleton, where everybody knew everybody else. What was the name of this place, anyway?
Shrugging, she stopped for just a moment, leaning against the nearest wall to allow herself to catch her breath. Inhaling and exhaling deeply, the young lady lifted a hand to weakly attempt to wipe at the dirt on her face, realising how much of a wreck she must have looked like. She was exhausted; too tired to continue properly, and yet, she knew she must continue, for the sake of her unborn child. Although she didn't know the gender, in her own thoughts it was always a boy. A handsome little boy who was the spitting image of his father.
A tall, grey building caused the girl to snap out of her thoughts, mouth open in surprise as she tried to make out the words written on the rusty old sign that hung on iron gates.
"Wool's Orphanage, London," she whispered, hazel eyes flashing in the harsh moonlight. Just what exactly was this building? Of course, she knew it was where parentless children were raised, but this looked like a particularly nasty orphanage. The stony, dark painted walls rose up as high as they could possibly reach, before curving in to form a roof that mimicked that of a chapel. Why would anybody want to send their child to live here?
After a few moments, a tiny spark ignited in the girl's mind as she let out another cough. Perhaps she could get help here. Whilst trying to make a decision, the young lady loitered around the entrance gates, before finally pushing them open and stepping into the orphanage grounds. Scurrying up the path as fast as she possibly could, the girl politely knocked on the door. The sound of locks grinding open alerted the girl that somebody was at the other side of the door. Suddenly a face poked out. It was a woman's face, slender and stern with perfectly trimmed white hair piled atop her head and pulled into a neat little bun. "Yes?"
The girl swallowed nervously, hazel gaze flicking upward to meet the woman's. "Sorry to interrupt your erm…. Festivities…" the girl faltered as the orphanage worker gave a snort of amusement. "But I am in dire need of help,"
Now the woman listened, straightening up and opening the door a little more so that she could get a better view of the girl. "You'd better come inside then, we can't talk while you're freezing to death out there,"
Acknowledging the previous statement with a nod, the girl stepped out of the cold winter night and into the warmth of the orphanage, glancing around from side to side. The entrance hall was dull and dreary – void of any emotion. Black tables and chairs had been set out and carefully arranged, presumably where the children ate.
"Now then, lassie, what's your name?"
The young girl jumped a little, truth being told she had forgotten about the other. Taking a seat in one of the dark chairs, she cleared her throat. "Once more, I'm very sorry to intrude at such a festive time. My name is Merope, Merope Gaunt. May I ask yours?"
"My name, well, you can just refer to me as , and I work here at Wool's Orphanage," Cole replied, placing her hands atop one another on her lap. Merope held her stare as the young girl patiently waited for her to go on. It wasn't a very long wait. "As what is this 'dire need of help' for exactly?"
Merope took a deep breath, eyes shimmering with exhaustion. Where on earth should she even begin? If there was one thing set in stone, it was that she could not, under any circumstances, reveal that she was a witch. Shaking slightly, Merope's gaze became unfocused as she began. "I… I'm going to have a child, although I am recently widowed. I am also unaware of when this child will be born, although I expect it will be soon. My family…" Merope paused for a moment. She could hardly tell that she had run away. "My family were wiped out many years ago by disease, and I was left to grow up in an orphanage not unlike this one,"
Outside the building, the rain had slowly changed into snow, white, soft flakes falling upon thousands. It was as if the weather had changed to show how Merope's burden had been lifted. Letting out a relieved sigh, Merope slumped back in the chair, Cole watching her all the while with an unwavering gaze.
"And so you came here for help," Cole concluded, a flicker of amusement crossing her features. "I do assure you, we will help all we can. We couldn't possibly leave a widowed mother out there all alone, could we?"
"Thank you so much," Merope replied steadily, unable to hide the happier tone in her voice as stood up and walked over to the doorway that presumably lead further into the orphanage. "I don't know what I could possibly do to repay you."
"Seeing you with your child will be payment enough," the orphanage worker gave a supporting smile. "I'm going to go and get the nurse to check on you and your baby. Stay right here until I get back,"
The young lady gave a tiny nod, watching as Cole left and allowing her thoughts to dirft off again. The tick tick tick of the clock was calming her, she would even call it soothing in a strange way. A remedy to her long day.
Merope soon found out that she didn't have to wait long as a few moments later Cole returned with a plump, jolly looking lady that Merope presumed must have been the orphanage's nurse. The nurse didn't speak, instead pulled out the stethoscope and pressed it gently to Merope's swollen abdomen, listening intently.
"Your child is fine," the nurse confirmed, "Although I think you are correct about it being born soon, maybe sooner than you think, actually,"
The young girl fixed her gaze on the nurse, unease almost swimming in her hazel eyes. Bad news was coming, Merope could just tell. Watching as the nurse and Cole exchanged nervous glances, Merope crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. "Well? What is it?"
"We have a confirmed birth date,"
"Good," Merope smiled gently, glad to finally have a set birth date. "When?"
"You... well, you're nine months pregnant," the nurse said slowly, letting it sink in. She placed a hand on Merope's shoulder as the girl visibly paled. She gave a small smile and a reassuring pat on the shoulder for confidence before she continued. "And your child will likely be born tonight,"
A strange silence swept over the hall as Merope finally let her inner self panic and rise to the surface. How? Closing her eyes, Merope sighed and put her head in hands. Before she could stop them, words she had not thought through escaped her cracked lips.
"I... that's fine. What are you planning to do with me?" Merope inquired, tilting her head to the side as she surveyed the other two people warily.
"We'll let you stay and birth here in the orphanage," explained quietly, smiling a fake smile that didn't even reach her eyes. Holding up a hand to stop interruptions, she continued. "We couldn't cast you out again now, could we?"
"I suppose not," Merope conceded after a few moments. Biting her lip, Merope ran a hand down the side of her dress and into her pocket, reassured by the firm, wooden feel of her wand. They couldn't harm her. She could fight her way out if she needed to. It would be harder with a child, granted, but few things were impossible, and this was not one of them. Blinking a couple of times, Merope stood and took the nurse's offered hand, allowing herself to be pulled into an empty room. Room number 27.
"Stay here and I will stay with you tonight," the nurse whispered, closing and locking the door behind them. "But I have something I need to ask, so please answer truthfully'
Merope nodded, a tiny flame of fear igniting in her eyes. Although she had to admit, she was curious as to what exactly the nurse had to ask, and why on earth she thought that a lie would unfold when the question was answered.
Looking the young lady up and down, the nurse sucked in a deep breath. "You're a witch, aren't you?" she asked quietly, a strange expression crossing her eyes.
A jolt of shock echoed through Merope's body once more. A few minutes passed before she gave an answer, deciding it might be best to be truthful in this matter. "Yes, I am,"
"I thought so," the nurse murmured softly. Upon seeing Merope's confusion, she began to elaborate. "You needn't worry, m'dear, my brother was a wizard. Happy little soul he was, always prancing around and performing the most ridiculous spells. Not in front of non-magic folk, mind."
Merope found a small smile creeping onto her face as she listened to the other. The spoke of their brother with a quiet, but fierce, fondness. Unsure of whether or not to ask the next question, Merope sighed. "Where is your brother now?"
A long sigh of exhaustion came from the nurse. "Killed a year ago by the killing curse," she whispered, voice raw with grief. "Confused the muggle cops, that one did. But I knew. I knew it was the killing curse that killed him, it was plainly obvious,"
"But why? Why would anybody even want to kill your brother? Its really too bad that it had to end that way," Merope gasped, an almost horrified expression on her face as she took in the new information that had been laid down in front of her.
"Well, he was a... 'mudblood' as you folk call it," the nurse paused, twirling a bit of hair around her finger. "And that means that to some he was unfit to study or perform magic,"
Merope's face fell. Mudblood. Her family had always used that word, too. It was a horrible word used by horrible people. "That's so, so unfair,"
"Life isn't fair, missy,"
Another silence fell between the two. Merope grimaced and lay down. Before she knew it, she realised that she wasn't happy. Life certainly hadn't been fair to her. All she could hope was that life would try to be a little easier on her child.
"So there's a fair chance of your child being a little wizard, then?"
"I am hoping so," Merope grinned, gleeful to be off the topic of death and onto the topic of her own child. She just hoped the child wasn't a squib - that would bring unmerciful teasing with it. "I really do hope so. Do you know what the gender is?'
"It's definitely going to be a little boy. I also think it will be a magical child, most children with magical parents are, so I've heard,"
Merope gave a small nod, only half concentrating on what the nurse was trying to say as she let out another deep cough, which attracted the nurse's attention.
"Are you sick, dearie?"
"I don't really know,"
The nurse tapped her foot on the ground impatiently as she pulled out a stethoscope, this time pressing it just above Merope's chest. Everything was going fine until she heard the noise. Her face contorted into one of concern, one that Merope really didn't like.
"What is it?" she demanded, crossing her arms and struggling to get up as the nurse held her down. "What's wrong with me?"
The nurse gave a sigh, averting her gaze and suddenly finding the floor to be very interesting indeed. She was a nurse, and this young lady was of recently her patient. She couldn't lie. "You're very, very sick m'dear,"
Merope froze. What? She sat up lightly and turned to stare out the frosted up window as if in a trance, watching the snowflakes spiral down as she whispered a small 'How sick?', although deep inside of her she already knew the answer. After all, coughing blood wasn't a good sign.
"Very, very sick," the nurse croaked, placing her hand once more on Merope's shoulder and increasing the air of truthfulness that hung around their conversation. "You have internal bleeding, and slowly but surely, your lungs are being filled with blood. You are going to die if you don't use your magic,"
"No," Merope said quietly, shocking the nurse into silence. "I won't use magic, not even to save my own life,"
"But... why ever not?!" the nurse almost screeched, lifting her hand to cover her mouth in pure shock. Surely she would raise her wand to save her own life? Wasn't that what magic was really for?
"Magic cannot make you immortal," Merope smiled sadly. Tears pricked at her eyes, although she knew that they would not fall. Lifting her hand, she wiped her eyes and sighed. Then pain echoed through her and she let out a gasp.
"It's time you had that child of yours," the nurse smiled kindly and then began work.
Exactly three hours later, Merope coughed once more. As far as she had heard, the child was fine and was currently being cleaned up and dressed. She didn't care. All she wanted was to hold him at least once.
Her wish appeared to have been granted as moments later the nurse reappeared with a small bundle in her arms. "Here," she whispered, gently passing the newborn to his mother. Merope reached out, watching with amusement as the child took one of her fingers in his tiny hand. "I hope he turns out to look like his father,"
The nurse nodded. Now here came the hard part. She personally wished that she didn't have to be the bearer of bad news, but there was no way to hide from the truth any longer than they already had. "You are much weaker now. If my calculations are correct, you have little under an hour remaining to live,"
Merope flinched away, although she cuddled the child closer to her chest. To the nurse's surprise, the child had not cried once so far. "So I'm finally going to die," Merope whispered gently. "I suppose I knew, or at least, I guessed,"
The nurse nodded solemly, looking as if she wanted to be somewhere else, anywhere else. Just not the place that she was at that precise moment in time. However she looked up again when Merope continued.
"If I am to die," Merope said forcefully. "Will you raise this child with love and care, here in this orphanage?"
Inside, Merope knew that she really didn't want her child to be forced to live here, she wanted him to live with his father, but that wasn't an option. At least here he would be safe.
"Yes, we will look after the child. I have to go now and get the name and birth certificate registered-"
"No!" Merope almost hissed, a strange expression in her eyes. "At least let me name him, even if it's the last thing I do,"
"It very well may be the last thing you do," the nurse paused, shaking her head and taking a piece of paper and a pen out of her pocket. "But I don't see why you wouldn't be able to name the little tyke. Go on, then. What's the name to be?"
"Tom Marvolo Riddle," Merope said softly, brushing a hand against the baby's cheek. "Tom after his father, Marvolo after my father. As I am to die, I would like him to take his father's surname, Riddle,"
The nurse hastily wrote the name down, double checking it before carefully folding and pocketing the paper. When she looked up again, she noticed with sadness that Merope lay still. Standing, she placed a hand on her neck. No familiar pulse ran. Merope Gaunt was dead.
With a deep breath, the nurse took the small child from his dead mother's arms before pulling the sheet over Merope's still body, almost covering the death that now lingered around the room.
Exiting the room, the nurse ordered for it to be cleaned and the body to be removed and buried in the nearby graveyard, while in a castle, an extra name was added to the list of future students.
The nurse kissed the newborn on the head with a smile. "Good luck, Tom Riddle,"
a/n : Word Count : Close to 3,000