Disclaimer: It all belongs to J K Rowling. I'm only having fun with her characters here.

Synopsis: AU. Magic saved Merope Riddle from death the night she gave birth to Tom Riddle Jnr. Alone she raises her boy with a guarded love, and he grows strong and powerful but different from the man he would have been. Will he be able to break the hold the spirit of Salazar Slytherin has on his chosen heir, or will he succumb inevitably to the Dark Arts and become a worse monster than the original Voldemort?

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I am Tom Marvolo Riddle

Prologue

It was a bitterly cold New Year's Eve.

Snow blew savagely from above and shadowed figures walked bent and double over darkened streets, their scarves pulled tightly over their faces in a vain attempt to keep out the biting cold. Evening had plunged the highways into gloomy darkness with only the odd, flickering lamppost lighting the way for the pitiful specimens who still wandered the empty streets.

The orphanage stood desolately on the corner of a particularly old-fashioned London street, the warm pulsing glow from the lights inside the only beacon of hope and refuge for a fair few miles around.

Staggering pathetically under the weight of a swollen pregnant belly, Merope Riddle trudged her way slowly towards the grim looking building promising such a warm interior.

On her face, tears of bitterness and helplessness had already frozen to form harsh icy streaks that bit into the warm flesh of her cheeks.

Abandoned for nine months while this life grew within her, the life that he had brought into existence… Merope wept bitterly. Tom Riddle had been no angel to her then. Refused to be her dark-haired, deep blue-eyed saviour, who promised he'd love her until the end of time, protecting her forever from her abusive family. No, Tom Riddle had turned cold at the thought of becoming a father. He could not love the spawn of a witch.

Slipping slightly on the icy surface, she slowly climbed up the small couple of steps that led to the large front door of the orphanage, leaning heavily on the iron rail that ran along parallel at either side of the staircase. Her breath coming in heaving gasps, she rested for a moment as she finally reached the top, a hand falling to lie on her grossly swollen belly.

He'd run. He'd run the moment he'd thrust this responsibility upon her, the moment he'd forced within her this life that should have been a blessing, but instead seemed to latch itself to her womb, feeding off her grief. In her anger and despair, she had refused to believe in any other reason for her husband's sudden disappearance.

Sobbing weakly she raised a numb hand to the door and knocked once, twice, before her frozen hand fell limply back down to her side. A few silent moments passed. Then Merope could hear the sound of clatter within and the annoyed crow-like voice of a middle-aged woman bustling about.

'Alright, alright I'll get it, but you just make sure Meredith gets to sleep within the next couple of minutes, because if I hear her screech and wail for that stuffed rabbit of hers one more time, I'll…'

A skinny sharp-featured young woman, who did indeed look like a crow as much as she sounded like one, had opened the door, and suddenly stopped in mid-sentence. Wearily, Merope pulled herself into an upright standing position, her hands trembling as she made to grasp the skinny woman's wrist.

'Please… I need, shelter… I need…'

'I think I know perfectly well what you need, my dear,' the woman interrupted, her wide eyes coming to rest sadly on Merope's bulging belly, 'Samantha!'

A second later, a tall well-built girl with long wispy blond hair who looked only about 18 years of age had joined the woman at the door.

'Quick, help me take this poor woman inside, that baby of hers doesn't seem to want to wait…'

The tall girl nodded vigorously, her strong arms reaching out to take Merope from under the armpits and just in time, for the ominous words were accompanied by a visible kick that caused Merope to groan loudly, collapsing completely against Samantha.

'Hurry, hurry child!'

Merope felt herself being lifted from the ground, and then her eyes fluttered, and all she could remember was a series of bright light bulbs flashing by overhead on grey walls.

Then she felt soft leather and cushions underneath her and realised that she had been placed on a sofa. Opening her eyes she saw the girl's concerned face above her and beyond, the other young woman's more harshly defined face screwed up in a clear expression of alarm.

'Well don't just stand there gawping! Fetch the towels and warm water! Hurry, hurry!'

And then Merope closed her eyes and screamed.

The pain as her body contracted in the throes of birth was worse than she could have expected. More terrible than she could have ever known from gazing lovingly at Tom's beautiful sleeping form during those warm nights. And it grew and grew, making her scream more and more loudly until Merope thought she would surely die of agony.

Through the vast pain, she was only just aware of the bony hand that had encircled her trembling palm. Merope gripped it fiercely and didn't let go, tears leaking out of her closed lids.

What seemed like hours of her body pushing and shuddering in fatigue passed, and then Merope could feel warm water on her forehead. The girl, Samantha, had placed a wet flannel on her sweat-strewn face and was gently mopping up the mingled sweat and tears. But it was too much, it was all too much…

The baby's cry caused her watery eyes to open wide. Her shuddering body stilled in shock as she heard it make the noise again; a soft gurgling sound that was almost a laugh. For some reason the sound, and the sudden understanding that it was outside her body, suddenly scared her more than when she been pregnant.

All of a sudden, she felt strong hands gripping her again under the armpits and levering her up into a half-sitting position. Unable to resist, Merope allowed herself to be moved, and then her arms to be arranged in a motherly fashion to hold the unmoving, blood-soaked baby that was placed within them.

'It's a beautiful boy.' She heard the young skinny woman murmur dutifully, but Merope wasn't really listening. She had known all along. She had known it would be just like him. Just like his father.

Glancing down, she shuddered involuntarily at the bloody mess she had been made to cradle. Her son was staring up at her with deep dark eyes that held her teary gaze and didn't seem to want to let go. Merope knew she should be happy, but all she felt was icy dread.

'Well? What's going to be this fine boy's name then?'

The woman's crow-like voice cut through Merope's dazed brain like a knife. She blinked, but remained gazing straight into her son's unblinking eyes.

'T-Tom. His name will be Tom.'

As if he could be called anything other, Merope thought sadly, raising a hand hesitantly to touch the child's small face. Her son seemed to enjoy her touch, however, closing his eyes and leaning in to press against her fingers, gurgling happily. Merope retracted her hand quickly.

'Anything else?' The woman asked gently, watching the scene with a slight frown on her face. Merope paused, closing her eyes.

'His name… will be Tom Marvolo Riddle,' she said simply and solemnly, but it sounded as though she were condemning someone to death. 'Tom, for that is the name of his father, and Marvolo, for it is the name of my father…' she said, still seriously, though there was sadness and fear and utter weariness in her voice now as well.

'Very well then, dear…'

Merope almost sighed with relief as she felt arms take away the warm, wet bundle off her lap. Beside her the tall girl Samantha was dabbing warm water on her brow again, and Merope felt herself feeling very tired all of a sudden.

Stirring slightly, she frowned as she felt a strange exhaustion overtaking her, robbing her of all strength, as every small movement seemed to become a laborious chore. Her concentration wavering as well, Merope found it painful just trying to fight off this peculiar feeling that was washing over her.

It really was a strange sensation. A complete uncaring for the world was filling her, and an overwhelming compulsion to just fade away from its troubles.

Merope felt herself longing for a deep, dark sleep. A numbing feeling gripped her brain and she found herself wanting to lie down, wanting to close her eyes, wanting to just drift away…

Inexplicably, her breathing began to grow shorter and shorter with each breath and everything was suddenly starting to pitch strangely out of focus.

Her eyes closing of their own accord, she dimly heard the woman's voice screeching to the terrified girl to stop whatever it was she was doing. From what seemed like miles away she heard the sounds of running footsteps, raised voices… and then, most dreadful of all, the haunting sound of a baby crying.

The sound brought fresh tears to Merope's eyes, as she instantly realised what it was. The voice of her son was crying out for his dying mother. Her son. Her baby Tom.

He didn't want her to die…

He wouldn't let her die.

Eyelids flickering uncontrollably, Merope's whole body twitched as she felt herself involuntarily take an enormous gulp of air.

Shuddering she observed from within at how her body seemed to regain a sense of itself. Her breathing was returning in steady intakes of breath, her vision no longer swam in front of her and Merope felt the beginnings of numerous aches and pains following her recent labour start to assault her mind.

Groaning loudly, Merope twisted her head sharply to one side, feeling all too real pain running up like electricity along the length of her body, replacing the numbing coldness of a few moments before.

From somewhere above she heard what sounded like a male voice, declaring her 'stable' and then several female voices sighing in relief.

But what she remembered most of all was the quiet happy gurgles of a newborn baby, before she felt exhaustion take her, and she fell into a deep sleep.