Merope Gaunt was by no means a beautiful women - in both appearance and personality. And she knew this, having to drug her husband into marrying her. She was a depressed old woman - she refused to call herself a witch. Unfortunately, she was also giving birth to the two children sired by the man she loved. Yes, two. Twins, though the knowledge would likely never make it outside of this miserable orphanage.

She supposed the twins should be lucky she had decided to make it here instead of in some alley when her water broke. The woman - she had no idea what her name was - had gently brought her into the depressing and dark little building to the dingy basement, having her lay down on a padding of blankets.

It was hazy after that. Merope wasn't positive what was going on, all she heard were murmurs and the occasional brush of hands or a wet rag. Vaguely, she heard someone tell her to bite onto a strip of leather, and not having the energy to argue, she did so. It was then, suddenly, that pain like no other ripped through her. Her teeth clenched the leather tightly, a scream still escaping it's edges. She heard a different female voice tell her to push. But Merope no longer had control of her body, racked with spasms. Her body ran on instinct.

Minutes, or perhaps hours, seemed to pass before she heard a short wail. It resounded throughout the stone room before it slowly died off and she heard a few short whimpers. But the pain wasn't done, and before she had time to look at her first child, she was screaming around the gag again.

It was nearly five minutes before the second, and Merope's final, child came. It screamed, longer than the first, though much softer. Merope lay panting on the blood drenched blankets. Before the woman that brought her here helped her sit up and lean against the wall. As another woman began cleaning up, the first woman carefully picked up a small bundle and handed it to Merope.

"This is your first child, the elder one. It's a boy." The woman's voice was soft and Merope almost didn't hear, so absorbed in staring at her child. The boy looked up at his mother, quietly.

"Is it natural for them to be so quiet?" Merope whispered, staring reverently down at the boy. The older woman next to her smiled, though slightly uneasily as she held the second child.

"No, but it doesn't mean it is bad. Here, this is your second child, the younger one. It's a girl." Merope gathered the smaller of the two children in her other arm. The girl's bottom lip trembled slightly as she stared up at her mother. All was silent in the room, save for the second woman exiting the room.

"I wish for my son to be named Tom Marvolo Riddle. Tom from his father and Marvolo from mine." The woman nodded, sensing the woman's weakening energy. Merope leaned down and kissed the boys forehead. Then she looked over to the small girl. "And the girl…..she will be Hermione Jean Riddle. Hermione from Shakespeare." The orphanage worker was slightly surprised, not taking the dishelmed, poor woman before to be one that could read, much less know Shakespeare. "And Jean from my late mother."

Merope began coughing violently and the woman next to her gently took the two children, the girl beginning to cry, the boy soon after his sister. The second woman, whom had helped with the birth, walked in and sat on the other side of Merope, awaiting the young ladies death as her coworker stood silently with the two children and left the dark basement.

~Six Year Time Skip~

Tom had always known him and his sister were different from the others at Wool's Orphanage. While the other children often snuck out to play in the town, Tom and his sister snuck out to go to the library. They would sit in a corner, surrounded by books, and read the day away, often times forgetting to eat dry and bland meals up at the orphanage. When the sun would go down, and the librarian shooed them away, they would slowly and quietly make their way back up to their dark and uninviting home.

For it was uninviting, none of them wanted them there. What, with his unnaturally deep voice for a six year old, his sisters unnatural way of knowing exactly what others were thinking, and both of their unnatural ways with animals and the conversations they held with snakes. That, perhaps was the most important characteristic of the Riddle twins that set them apart from all others.

The two were severely ostracized from the other children, often teased. And although Tom didn't have the problem too much - for he could, at times, defend himself - his sister was constantly bullied. She would come back to their shared room with bruises and cuts and refusing to tell him who had hurt her. The adults also aided the other disgusting children, turning a blind eye to their words, justifying their actions, and refusing to nurse the twins injuries.

Tom hated them and wished that he could kill them all and run away with his small sister. Malnourishment had affected the both of them, his sister more so than himself as she was the weaker and more susceptible of the two of them, not quite having a strong immune system. He was thin and, although it was partially natural due to his mothers natural skin tone, incredibly pale, his body not having the right nutrients. His sister, also unnaturally pale, was also very thin and very short, looking sickly most of the time. She also became sick quite easily, one reason Tom always insisted that they retreat to the more sanitary library every day instead of holing themselves up in their dirty room.

Tom looked over to his sister now, her frizzy chestnut curls springing wildly around her pale round face with her small nose buried in her book. Her tiny hands gently clutched the book resting on her thin and knobby legs. Tom smiled slightly, closing his book to stare at his sister.

She had the rather nasty habit of chewing on her lip, causing it to bleed when especially excited, anxious, or nervous. She was as easy to read as an open book, yet quite clever and the rather incredible liar, something he shared with her. She was more practical and logical than himself, preferring to stick strictly with instruction while he was the more daring twin, often trying things out of the norm. but they were both unnaturally intelligent and talented for six year olds, prodigies in the eyes of the world that was just too blind to see them.

Tom sighed and pulled the book from his sister, her silent protests and pout only furthering to make him smile. Her pout turned to a scowl and she turned to look away from him. Tom gave a small chuckle as he stood and began putting away the books. He heard shuffling before his shorter sister began helping him. They were out of the library minutes later, the librarian staring at them with something akin to morbid fascination as the Riddle twins walked up the hill.

~Five Year Time Skip~

Mrs. Cole looked at the odd man before her, his auburn beard and hair swaying in the cold English wind before she stood aside, allowing him to enter. Hesitantly, wondering is she was doing the right thing, led him down the hall to the final door where the Riddle twins resided. Nervous, she began to babble.

"Odd one, he is. Always manipulating the other children, talking to snakes and such. I believe he may have inherited some sort of madness from his mother." Seeing the confused expression on the man's face she elaborated. "I believe his mother was some sort of circus worker, what with the way she dressed and what she named the boy. Really, Tom Marvolo Riddle? What kind of name is that?" She gave a nervous giggle before she sighed in relief at finally arriving at the narrow door at the end. She opened it, and with a nod, the odd man entered and gently shut the door behind him, leaving himself and Tom alone.

A/N: Alright, this is my first story. I hope everyone likes this. I don't believe anyone has tried this angle, so I hope everyone enjoys it.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter or any of it's characters.