A defining characteristic of the Marvolos is their small size and delicacy. All of the old families have traits associated with them. The Blacks always have black hair, the Weasleys red. Malfoys have the Chin, and Snapes the Nose. Goyles are always strongly built, while Marvolos are small and fragile. Marvolos look like flowers, Mother always said. The families all pretend that the recurrence of their traditional trait is serendipity, but in reality each ancestral house has charms laid deep in its foundations to ensure that the Chin or the Hair endures for another generation.
Miriel was once proud of her small size because it marked her as a Marvolo. Then she was proud of it because Tom loved it. He said he wanted someone who he could protect. Someone as small and delicate as a flower. She had tried to explain to her father how powerful her fiance was, as powerful as any pureblooded wizard. He had not listened, of course, but even that was all right as long as Tom was there to shield her from his rage.
But now Tom is gone, and Miriel curses her small build. He left her because she is too strong, but now she is too weak. St. Mungo's would have ensured a safe delivery, but she is too much of a Marvolo, even now, to let the wizarding world know of her halfblood child.
She couldn't have paid them, anyway.
So instead she is at some nameless Muggle hospital for the poor, wracked with labor pains, straining for two days to push a child through hips that are just a little too narrow. It is a miracle when he arrives, but she knew from the moment that her pains started that this child would be born. And when they cut the cord that connects her to her son, she knows that she will die.
"The strength of seven men has gone into him," she murmurs to no one.
"Of course, miss," the nurse replies. "We'll just clean him up a bit and then pop him into your arms, how's that?" The nurse's voice is cheery, but Miriel sees her face fall as she turns away.
After an eternity, her son is placed in her arms. She sings to him softly, a rhyme that the house elf once sang to her. She tells him of the Riddles, of how they rose from utter poverty to owning factories and land. And she tells him of the Marvolos, of how they wield great magic and have blood that stretches back to Salazar Slytherin himself.
She tries to feed him, but the milk does not come.
Eventually, she feels herself tire, and she knows that when she goes to sleep she will not wake again. She beckons for the nurse to take the child from her.
"What'll his name be, then?"
"Thomas Marvolo Riddle. He's named after his father, and his middle name is my maiden name."
"That's a good name, miss."
"It's a great name. And someday he will do great things."