Written for QLFC Season 5, Round 11 - Changing Seasons! I'm chaser 2 for Ballycastle Bats (Go Bats!). I had to write about a death on a spring day OR a birth on a winter night.
My lovely betas were: brownlark42 and queen-sheep. All other mistakes are mine!
Optional prompts were: [word] asleep; [emotion] melancholy; [colour] yellow
Word Count: 1,066
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Merope Riddle was feeling intense bouts of melancholy along with the contractions. Tom had finally broken through her combination of love potions and modified Imperius curse seven weeks ago. He had left without looking back, and now Merope had nobody. She made her way to London in hopes that she could find some work in the last days of her pregnancy, but she was unsuccessful. What she did find was Wool's Orphanage. The advertisement in the paper said they'd take in expecting mothers until the birth if necessary. Merope hadn't wanted to live there, but she'd lingered too many nights and the matron Mrs. Cole had ushered her inside.
Now, as she paced the halls in her yellow house dress, sweeping bouts of melancholia crashed over her in time with her contractions.
"It won't be long now, Mrs. Riddle," Mrs. Cole was saying as she placed a hand on Merope's back and guided her down the hall.
It was a Muggle institution, and they had encouraged Merope to have ether while she gave birth. Merope refused. She would welcome her son into the world awake. It was the least she could do for the boy.
The next round of contractions brought Merope to her knees. She fell with a small cry and Mrs. Cole called the midwife to help Merope stand. As she stood in the middle of the hallway, the midwife checked her dilation.
"Only two centimeters, Mrs. Riddle," the midwife said and patted her arm. "Not nearly far enough, so we'll need to keep walking now."
And so Merope walked on. As she walked she thought of her Tom. Her handsome, precious Tom who quite naturally wanted nothing to do with ugly, almost-Squib Merope. But after seeing both her abusive father and brother off to Azkaban, Merope had finally hoped that Tom would see her for who she was — the love of his life.
Another contraction rolled through her body and Merope groaned at the pain. Merope had never had luck with love, and Tom most certainly did not see her as the love of his life. He saw her as a repulsive, grubby peasant. He'd said as much before she'd thought to use a glamor or two and lure him to tea.
Another lap of the hallway and Merope found herself in front of the small nursery window. There were three other babes lying asleep in their bassinets and it calmed Merope to see them as such. Her son would soon join them. She kept walking. She'd been walking for hours, for days it seemed, and her contractions kept coming, wave after wave. She breathed and pushed through the pain when it came, and still, she walked.
The glamor had been the perfect key. She'd glamored herself and her humble shack into something more presentable. A quick Confundus at Tom and his retinue, a broken horse's leg, and Tom was ready for tea with "Miss Meropa." She rather thought the 'a' at the end made her name sound much more elegant and European.
The tea, of course, had been laced with Amortentia, and Tom had fallen in love. It didn't take him long to bring her to the Manor house and introduce her to his parents. Unfortunately, Merope hadn't been quick enough with the Confundus and Tom's mother had recognized her and thrown her out.
But Tom was still in love, and so they eloped and lived in the glamored shack. The upkeep took a toll on Merope. She soon began dosing Tom less and relying more on the modified Imperius curse. She'd had no formal training, but her brother had taught her the basics of the Unforgivables. They did have a family reputation to live up to, of course.
Another lap and three more rounds of contractions. They were getting stronger, coming closer together. A good sign, according to the midwife. Tapering the love potions had been her downfall. Then during one deep sleep, seven months into her pregnancy, she woke to him standing over her, vibrating in anger.
"You, complete cow!" he'd screamed as he gathered his things and left. Merope hadn't had the energy to follow him — it had been the best night's sleep she'd had in months.
She begged and pleaded at the Riddle Manor, and he refused to see her. Soon the Muggle police were involved and Merope took herself off to London.
Another lap, four rounds of contractions, and Merope felt a wetness dribble down her legs. The front of her yellow house dress was soaked. Her waters had broken. She called for the midwife, who hustled her to the small infirmary and checked her again.
"Nearly there, Mrs. Riddle. A little longer yet," the midwife assured her. Merope nodded and let the midwife guide her to the small iron frame bed.
She laid her hands on her distended stomach and looked at the snow falling. It was New Year's Eve, she realized. She began wishing for her son. She wished him happiness and joy. She wished him an early adoption and a family that would embrace him. She knew little of the Muggle world but hoped a Muggles would take him in. More than anything, she wished him a life with love — the type of love that she had never been able to get, without manipulation or magic.
And then it was time. The contractions became fiercer and happened more quickly. She called once more for the midwife.
"Now, Mrs. Riddle. Now you must push, hard as you can," the midwife murmured as she patted Merope's hand and stood at the end of the bed.
Merope thought of all the good things she wanted for her son as she pushed and pushed. Finally, after what seemed like hours, he was free and she heard his cry.
She reached for him from the midwife and looked at his beautiful little head full of dark hair. "Tom for your father. Marvolo for mine. Riddle," she looked up at Mrs. Cole and smiled.
"We'll take good care of him, Mrs. Riddle," Mrs. Cole assured her. She took Tom from her and Merope took one last look outside at the snow before falling asleep. She never woke. Not after the shouting of the midwife and not when the doctor came to try and stop the bleeding. Not even for Tom Marvolo Riddle's endless cries for his mother.