The woman who strode into the orphanage had wildly curly hair. Mrs. Cole approved of the fact that it hadn't been bobbed. This modern fad for short hair on women was most improper. Her dress, similarly, took no notice of the modern fashion for straight, shapeless, short shifts. Neither, however, did it seem to match fashions of previous decades. Previous centuries, perhaps.
"Do you work here?" the wild-haired woman asked.
"Yes."
"I'm looking for my cousin, Merope Gaunt. Or I suppose Merope Riddle now. I heard she was here."
"Oh!" Oh dear. "I'm afraid I have some very bad news for you, ma'am."
"Well, get on with it."
"Mrs. Riddle is dead."
This news didn't seem to hit particularly hard. "She always was a sickly thing. And?"
"You see, she gave birth here last night, and died soon after."
"So where's the baby?"
"I'll take you to him."
"About time." She followed impatiently. "Just think of that poor little motherless baby in a place like this. He should be with his own kind, his own family."
Mrs. Cole opened the door to the nursery. The visitor scanned the babies, then made a beeline for the correct one. She picked him up with a squeal. "He's the most beautiful baby ever!" Little Tom opened his dark baby-blue eyes and gazed into hers in that eerie way he had.
"His mother wished him to be named Tom Marvolo Riddle," said Mrs. Cole.
The woman didn't seem to be paying her any attention, but she did incorporate the name into her delighted cooing. "Ickle Tomikins is the cutest baby ever! Yes he is! Yes he is! I love ickle Tomikins, I do! I'll take care of you, darling. I'll get you out of this nasty place and raise you right. I won't let anyone hurt you."
"I didn't know he had any family," said Mrs. Cole. "His mother didn't mention anyone. She was in a bad way of course. So you'll be taking him then?"
The woman shot her a contemptuous look. "Of course I will. He's mine. My family's."
"You'll also be making funeral arrangements for his mother?"
"Oh. I'll be busy with my new baby, really. Could you handle that?" Awkwardly, as most of her attention was fixed on the baby in her arms, she pulled a small purse out of a pocket of her long black dress and opened it. "How much do those cost?" She thrust a handful of cash at Mrs. Cole. "Will that cover it?"
It was more than enough to pay for a pauper's grave, if that was all she wanted. Mrs. Cole took the money. She approved of this woman's lack of sentimentally. Life was for the living, after all. She could use the extra money to feed the other orphans. "Yes, thank you. I'll make the arrangements."
The woman acknowledged this with a nod, but didn't spare much attention from her darling boy.
"So, there are some papers to sign. My office is this way." The woman followed her, almost skipping in joy.
"You can put him down in this crib here so you can fill out these forms."
"You expect me to put my baby down? It's cold in here! And what if he gets lonely?"
Mrs. Cole sighed. "Suit yourself." She handed her a pen. "Print and sign your name here please. I'll write today's date, January 1, 1927."
After the woman had swept out with her bundle of joy, Mrs. Cole looked over the forms. Well, Merope and Marvolo were such peculiar names, it made sense that he'd be related to someone named Bellatrix Lestrange. It was nice that he was with his family.