CW: Blood, discussions of non-consent
Chapter 23: Into the Storm
Dumbledore drew his wand and threw out an arm to stop them in their tracks.
"Do not move," he said, calmly but firmly. "There is dark magic here."
He was staring firmly ahead at the Gaunt shack with narrowed eyes, his wand seemed to twitch in his outstretched hand and Marina realised that he must be engaged in some unseen battle with whatever defences Voldemort had shrouded over the ruin of his ancestral home.
A second later Marina saw something – with a delicate pop like the sound of a glowstick cracking, a fissure appeared in mid-air in front of Dumbledore's wand. Dumbledore flicked his wand and the fissure spread with long, reaching fractures through an unseeing barrier around the shack. With a shattering sound, whatever had surrounded the Gaunt house disintegrated into invisible shards, but still Dumbledore did not lower his wand. He proceeded forward slowly, wand outstretched in caution. If he was suspicious of Riddle, Marina thought, she couldn't imagine how he felt about Voldemort.
Her and Riddle followed him as he approached the ruin, and Marina saw the tell-tale skeletal remains of the snake that had been hammered above the door now lying scattered around the entrance. They stepped over the bones and pushed through the half-hanging door.
Inside, the shack was a mess. Cobwebs and leaves littered the corners, and the boarded windows let in slivers of reluctant sunlight that did little to dispel the neglected, decaying feeling of the room.
"It's hidden here somewhere," Marina muttered, holding her hand to her nose against the thick dust on the air. "It's protected – be careful."
Dumbledore nodded and his wand slashed through the air. Whatever spells he cast had no visible effect, and Marina turned her attention to Riddle as Dumbledore's search continued.
Riddle was looking around the Gaunt house with a detached disgust. He had not entered much further than the edge of the threshold, as if coming in any further would immerse him in the unpleasant reality of the place.
"So, this is the end of Slytherin's legacy," he said softly, eyes falling on the grimy table heaped with ancient rusted pots and what might have once been food but was now little more than the dusty remains of the mould that had consumed it.
"The Gaunts were blind," Marina said, joining him in his censorious assessment. "They refused to look past their own blood, they didn't change even as the world around them did."
"I suppose you think them typical wizards, then," Riddle said, looking at the emaciated remains of an armchair near the empty hearth. Soot-stains overflowed up the walls around it.
"No," Marina said frowning, forcing down a sneeze, "typical of the worst kind of wizard, perhaps."
"I have something," Dumbledore said softly, wand poised above the floor in the middle of the room.
It was enough to entice Riddle past the threshold. Dumbledore flicked his wand and the floorboards cracked inwards as if an invisible boulder had been dropped on them. With another swift motion, Dumbledore dispelled the boards to the corner of the room and a small alcove beneath the floor was revealed. They leaned forward to see a glittering golden box sitting in the middle of the concavity, squat and wide, and very ornate.
Dumbledore gingerly levitated the box from the hole and set it down on the edge of the overflowing table. The lid slowly lifted – the interior was set with plush forest green velvet, and in the middle sat the heavy looking golden ring with its strange black stone almost clumsily set into the metal. The box, and the ring inside, had an opulence that jarred ominously with its derelict surroundings.
"Don't put it on," Marina said without thinking as Riddle slowly reached for the ring.
Dumbledore gave her a sharp look and she raised her hands defensively. "I'm not trying to unveil the future or anything," she said, shrugging, "that's just good advice – don't put on the scary evil ring in the scary abandoned ruin, right?"
"I won't put it on," Riddle said disparagingly, sounding near to rolling his eyes.
He returned his attention to the ring and gently moved to pick it up from its plush setting. The second his fingertips brushed it, he jerked back like he'd been burnt.
Both Marina and Dumbledore moved towards him in an instant.
"Are you alright?" Marina asked quickly as Dumbledore raised his wand towards the ring.
"I'm fine," Riddle muttered, eyes fixed on the ring. "It just showed me… what happened," he finished flatly. He grit his teeth and went for the ring again, his motions significantly more assertive. Pushing through whatever visions appeared to him, Riddle shoved the ring callously into his pocket and turned towards the door.
"Let's go," he said sourly, not sparing the room a second look as he left.
Marina shared a look with Dumbledore and saw her own apprehension reflected in his face. They followed Riddle from the ruin to find him already making his way back towards the road. He didn't look back once.
They hurried after him and began their short trek towards the old Riddle house, a huge looming silhouette on the hill behind the village. The manor was set behind a sprawling, well-kept garden with trimmed hedges and weedless flower beds – Marina remembered the Muggle groundskeeper who Voldemort murdered in the series and felt her face go tight. She had always hated the beginning of the fourth movie, hated reading about Frank Bryce's murder ever since she'd first read the Goblet of Fire as a small child.
They continued on, drawing closer and closer to the huge, ivy-covered manor and its dull windows. They stopped at its door, and Riddle stared impassively up at its impressive façade in silence.
"Tom," Dumbledore said gently.
Riddle turned to him, expressionless.
"This is no small task to undertake," said Dumbledore, looking over his spectacles at Riddle. "You should not feel ashamed for being nervous, or afraid."
Riddle simply pursed his lips like he was holding back his true reaction.
"Your father may not have been a parent to you, but considering his circumstances, that does not make him a bad person," Dumbledore continued softly.
"I know," Riddle said shortly, looking up at the house behind them. "I don't think he's a bad person." There was a pause as Riddle hesitated. "But…" he said, near whisper.
Suddenly he turned to Dumbledore swiftly, his expression agitated. "Is it so wrong to wish that he had waited to meet me?" he said loudly. "To have reached out for me during my years at the orphanage? What would have become of me if not for Hogwarts?"
"It is not wrong to wish it," Dumbledore replied, ever calm. "But it is wrong to judge him for not doing so. You cannot blame your father for your mother's actions - she robbed him of his choice in becoming a father."
"I know!" Riddle said again, angrily. "I don't expect him to have taken me in! But not once did he try to find me, not once did he even attempt to find out if I had survived –"
"Tom," Dumbledore interrupted firmly. "It is imperative that you understand this. Your father awoke one day unable to explain why he had run away from his home, abandoned his family and friends, eloped with a stranger whom he did not love, and fathered a child with that stranger. Regardless if Merope used a love potion or the Imperius curse to force him to do so, your father will have clear memories of these actions and no explanation for why he did them seemingly of his own volition."
Dumbledore took a step towards Tom before continuing. "His decision to return to his life and attempt to pretend like this monstrous violation of his autonomy did not occur does not reflect on you, it reflects on his desire to overcome the traumatic and incomprehensible crime committed against him."
Riddle had gone very still. "And I am the result of that crime," he said, his voice not so much calm as it was empty.
"You are proof that one's parentage does not have to inform one's life," Dumbledore said quietly, "should they be given the means to make the right choices."
"The right choices?" Riddle repeated, mouth twisting unpleasantly. "That is hardly how I would describe my history, Dumbledore."
"Until quite recently I did not believe that you had the capability to change, Tom," Dumbledore said, frankly. "I can see now that perhaps I was merely reluctant to accept that I failed in my responsibility to help you make those choices."
Riddle looked taken aback despite himself.
Taking advantage of his silence, Dumbledore withdrew from his pocket the familiar year-logged timeturner with its gently orbiting planets and silver fluid entrapped within its glass.
Dumbledore turned to Marina and she stepped forward as if he'd beckoned her.
"We have yet to discuss your decision regarding your memories," Dumbledore said softly as he laced the timeturner chain around her neck.
"We can talk when I'm back," Marina said, managing a small smile. "There are other things to worry about right now."
Dumbledore gave a slow nod. "Do you have Fawkes' feather?"
Marina was horrified. "No," she admitted, looking up at him guiltily. "I left it in my room."
"No matter," said Dumbledore reassuringly as he looped the chain over Riddle's head. "I will be waiting here for your return."
He stepped back, giving them a bracing smile. "Good luck," he said sincerely.
"Thanks," breathed Marina, nerves erupting in her stomach.
Riddle looked down at Marina. "Forty-nine turns," he said quietly.
She nodded and took in a deep breath. During their last journey, the exertion of the timeturner had nearly rendered her incapable of completing all the turns. Riddle noticed her hesitation.
"Would you like me to do it?" he asked, frowning.
"I'll be fine," she said with determination. "Just – make sure I don't fall, alright?"
He nodded. Marina apprehensively took the small dial between her fingers and gave Dumbledore one last look.
"See you soon, sir," she said with an uneven smile.
"Remember, I have every faith in you," Dumbledore said. Though he smiled, his eyes were serious and clear.
She nodded and turned the dial. Dumbledore was consumed by angry orange clouds and Marina felt her hair swirling around as the sharp winds buffeted them. Almost immediately did the dull grey encroach the borders of her vision, and each turn seemed it coax it out further and further. After only ten turns what little Marina could see was spinning so violently that her eyes gave out and flickered up into her sockets. She immediately felt Riddle's fingers close around the dial as her hand slipped away, and he continued the turns.
Marina grabbed Riddle's arm and tried to avoid being pulled backwards by the dizzying force as they hurtled backwards through time. It seemed to go on for hours. Marina felt something painful and hot curling in her stomach and she gasped at the pain, resisting the urge to curl forward lest she break the timeturner's chain. A metallic taste spread through her mouth and her ears seemed thick with liquid, her pulse thundering in her head as finally, finally the world stopped spinning and they both toppled onto the green lawn of Riddle manor.
For a long moment they both lay there, breathing heavily as the orange clouds disappeared in an instant and a cool, bright winter sun innocently looked down upon them from a blank, ice blue sky.
Riddle pulled the chain off his neck and sat up. "I felt it that time," he said shakily, looking down at his trembling fingers.
"Poor you," Marina said with good-natured sarcasm as she wiped away the trickle of blood leaking from her nose.
Riddle pushed himself to his feet and offered her his hand. She took it with her non-bloodied hand, and he pulled her up. The second she was standing, the dizziness returned along with the sharp pain in her stomach that made her wince and cry out involuntarily. Marina keeled over as something rose in her throat and she vomited bright red blood over the manicured flower bed beside Riddle manor's large front door.
"Marina," Riddle said alarmed.
"I'm okay," she choked, holding up a hand towards him where she leaned. "I'm alright, I feel better now." She wiped blood off her mouth and shakily pushed herself upright.
"You don't look good," he said apprehensively as he looked at her. "Your lips are blue."
"Are they?" she frowned, reaching to touch them.
"We better get inside," Riddle said, looking at the door. "Perhaps they could help."
"Yes, bound to have a cure for time sickness in there," said Marina with a weak attempt at humour. Something told her that her blood-stained chin ruined her delivery.
"Come on," Riddle said, not even bothering to look disapproving at her ill-timed joke. He took her arm and helped her towards the door, having to half-lift her up each step as her vision swam again.
He knocked curtly on the door, and shortly afterwards it swung open to reveal a middle-aged woman with bright red hair, a round, wrinkled face, and a lumpy, prominent nose. She was dressed like an old-fashioned servant, down to the white apron and headdress. Before the woman had even glanced towards Marina's slightly crumpled form, she took one look at Riddle, shrieked, and slammed the door in his face. Sounds of movement and raised voices erupted within.
"That's a good start," Marina said, giving Riddle a side-eyed look.
"You don't have to make jokes, you know," he said sharply, "it's not distracting me from how sick you are, or how serious this is."
Marina didn't reply. She was a little lost for words at his frank response.
The door opened again, and Marina stared at the man before them. He looked exactly like Riddle – tall, black hair, dark blue eyes, and high, prominent cheekbones, though he was clearly older with the hint of a 5 o'clock shadow and creases around his eyes and mouth. He was dressed smartly in an expensive looking suit and his shoes were pitch black and shiny, and he was looking at Riddle with an almost fearful expression. Both seemed too captivated by the other to move.
Marina couldn't help it – she felt more blood rising from her stomach and had to turn and brace herself on the side of the house as it forced its way up her throat and out her mouth, thick and metallic.
"What in God's name –" Tom Riddle Senior exclaimed, finally noticing her.
"She's sick," Riddle said bluntly, "can we come in?"
"I – I –" Riddle Senior stuttered.
"I'm fine," Marina gasped, standing again. "Honestly, I feel better –"
"Will you stop it," Riddle snapped. He turned to his father. "We won't stay long if you don't want us to," he said in a low, pressing voice. "Just – please give us a moment to rest before we go."
Riddle Senior stared at his son with wide eyes. He glanced at Marina, the corners of his mouth turning down as he stood to the side and waved them inside. Riddle immediately seized Marina around the shoulders and guided her into the house.
"Over there," Riddle Senior said weakly, pointing to the left through a tall set of wooden doors that opened up into what looked like a bright sitting room. "On the couch – er – Marjorie!"
As Riddle shepherded Marina into the room, the servant woman appeared at once from where she had been eavesdropping behind the staircase. "Yes, sir?"
"The dust sheets…" was all Riddle Senior said as he cast an aspersing eye at Marina's blood-run face.
"Of course, sir," Marjorie said, disappearing into a closet before emerging with a huge blank sheet. She bustled past Riddle and Marina, spreading the sheet across the beautiful blue and yellow embroidered settee before Marina had a chance to sit.
Marina didn't mind – she collapsed onto the covered couch with relief as she let her weight slump to the side and held her head in her hand. She caught a glimpse of Riddle's tense expression as he crouched before her.
"If I had a wand, perhaps I could help you," he said pointedly, under his breath.
She scoffed tiredly. "You have some nerve, Riddle," she said, squinting against the bright sun streaming through the tall, velvet-curtained windows.
Marjorie had vanished and Marina could hear her and Riddle Senior whispering in low, rapid voices in the hallway outside the room.
"Are you alright?" Marina asked Riddle quietly.
He slowly took a seat beside her. "Yes," he said evenly. "Are you?"
"Yeah," Marina said wearily, looking down at her purpling fingernails. "I honestly feel fine now."
Riddle gave her a disbelieving look but didn't press her. He turned his attention over his shoulder towards the man. "He looks like me," said Riddle, almost thoughtfully.
"He does," Marina nodded. "Reckon he knows who you are?"
"He's got to," Riddle muttered. "The way that woman reacted – I think it's fairly evident."
Before Marina could reply, Riddle Senior entered the room and slowly took a seat on the matching settee opposite them and crossed one of his long legs over the other in a vague attempt at ease.
"So," he cleared his throat, not quite meeting either Riddle's or Marina's eyes. "I, er, I suppose I knew this day would come."
He looked deeply uncomfortable, and Marina suddenly felt very guilty at having sprung this upon the man.
"What is your name then, boy?" Riddle Senior asked, transparently feigning a sporting attitude.
"Tom," Riddle said flatly.
Riddle Senior looked flummoxed. "Oh," he said weakly. "She – she named you after…" he trailed off, eyes going distant.
"Yes," Riddle said, more carefully, "and Marvolo, for her father."
"Excellent, excellent…" Riddle Senior said, looking around the room vacantly. "Er, Marjorie!"
Marina would have readily believed that Marjorie was a witch herself given how quickly she appeared in the doorway.
"Yes, sir?"
"Tea might be nice," Riddle Senior said in an airy voice. "And – for the girl – a cloth, perhaps."
"Right away, sir," said Marjorie, curtseying before she left the room, casting a long, curious look at Riddle as she went.
"So," Riddle Senior said again, loudly. "I suppose you came to talk then."
"If you like," said Riddle, looking cautious.
"How did you find me?" Riddle Senior asked, his voice betraying his nerves.
Riddle hesitated for an almost imperceptible second, and Marina's heart lurched as she realised that they hadn't come up with an alibi.
"My mother told the orphanage your name, they provided me with your address," Riddle said smoothly, not a hint of the falsehood on his face.
Riddle Senior nodded acceptingly, not having reacted to the mentioning of an orphanage. "And your mother, she…?" Both his voice and his gaze trailed off again.
"She's dead," Riddle said, jaw tightening. "She died giving birth to me."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Riddle Senior said in a voice so quiet that Marina had to focus to hear it. "Well," said Riddle Senior much more loudly, slapping one hand on his knee. "I'm sure you were happy to approach the manor – not every orphan finds out his father's well to do, does he!" He gave a strange, overly loud laugh.
Riddle's hesitation was noticeable this time. "I am not here for money," he said, voice slow and precise. "I have no intention to collect anything from you."
"Of course not," Riddle Senior gave a gaudy wink. "I see straight through you, my boy!" He gave the same loud laugh, and Marina wondered if he was acting so strangely because of the stress.
Riddle caught her eye and she wondered how subtly she could give a shrug before Riddle Senior spoke again.
"Who's this then?" he asked, smiling blandly at Marina.
"She works at the orphanage," Riddle lied seamlessly, looking back at his father. "She helped me find my way here."
"Well-behaved boy, is he?" Riddle Senior asked her, examining at the shine on his own shoe.
There was a strangled silence as Marina's addled mind wrestled with the question. "Yes," she managed to say, trying to keep in pace with Riddle's effortless alibi. "He's –"
"How old are you, then, Tom?" Riddle Senior interrupted, ignoring her and looking back at Riddle.
Marina stared. She was beginning to dislike Riddle Senior.
"I'm sixteen," Riddle said quickly. "I turn seventeen next Tuesday."
That broke Marina from her thoughts - she'd totally forgotten about his birthday.
"Counting the days until you turn eighteen like all the young boys these days?" Riddle Senior was saying blithely to the room. "Wanting to join the army?"
It was Riddle's turn to stare. Luckily Marjorie chose that moment to re-enter the room with a large silver tray laden Riddle was saved from having to reply. Marjorie sat down the shining tray upon the burnished low wooden table between them and handed Marina a warm, damp cloth. Marina pressed the cloth to her face and was startled by how much blood came away – she must look ghastly.
"Milk? Sugar?" she distantly heard Marjorie ask Riddle.
"Both for her," Riddle said quietly as she continued to wipe the blood off her mouth. "Just lemon for me, thank you."
Marina's attention was caught as the woman lifted the lid to a sugar bowl filled with glittering white cubes next to the the little golden plate of perfectly uniform lemon slices. Something about them seemed off. It came to her a moment later – to have such luxuries in the middle of wartime England would have cost the Riddles a fortune. Or they were circumnavigating the rationing rules, Marina thought suspiciously.
Marjorie handed them their drinks and all three of them held them in silence whilst the servant woman fussed with the tray, delaying her exit from the room as she continued to glance at Riddle before finally leaving.
"Your grandparents are not at home, regrettably," Riddle Senior said as he sipped his tea, his hand visibly trembling. "Though I will inform them of your little visit." He gave a weak, fleeting smile.
Marina lowered the towel from her face. "When will they be back?" she asked curiously, "we can wait –"
"No, no," Riddle Senior said loudly, not looking at her, "that's quite alright, they are very busy people after all – no telling how long they will be."
"Of course," Riddle said mechanically, "we wouldn't wish to impose." He gave Marina a pointed look and she let it drop immediately.
"Have you been to meet the Gaunts? What's-his-name down there, Murphey? No, something strange isn't it, Mallow? Miffy?" Riddle Senior said, not sounding very interested.
"Morfin," Marina supplied, eyes downturned. Things were not going well.
"That's it, Morfin – odd fellow," said Riddle Senior, "he would be your uncle, wouldn't he?"
"Yes," said Riddle stiffly. "We are yet to meet him."
"Always very strange, that family," Riddle Senior said in a hollow, whispery voice, his eyes unfocused. "All of them were. I don't suppose…" he fixed Riddle with a suspicious, fearful expression. "Can you – that is to say – are you… like her?"
Riddle's entire body was taut with tension, but his face betrayed none of his feelings. "Yes," he said again, somehow managing to sound completely at ease.
Riddle Senior nodded, his eyes on Riddle like he was a stranger's dog and he didn't know whether it would bite.
Marina's stomach curled in pain again and she jerked reflexively - Riddle looked over at once. Before she could say anything to mitigate his questioning stare, she felt something hot pool in her eyes and run down her cheeks like tears.
"Good God," Riddle Senior breathed, sounding horrified. "What have you done to her?"
"I haven't done anything," Riddle said sounding agitated, some of his composition cracking at the accusation as he watched Marina press the towel to her cheeks. It came away red – she was crying blood.
"Riddle, what's happening?" Marina asked fearfully as the hot trickle continued to leak from her eyes. An inky purple was pooling across her hands and she watched aghast as it seemed to curl under her skin up her arms like tendrils of ink in water.
"We have done this too many times," Riddle breathed, watching the discolouration spread. "We should get you back."
"But –" Marina glanced at Riddle's father.
"Don't worry about that," Riddle said tersely as he stood and pulled her up by the arms. He looked towards his father as he guided Marina towards the door. "We'll be going now," he said curtly.
"Yes, yes!" Riddle Senior said, standing. Marina couldn't see him but he sounded terrified, his voice wavering as he continued. "Take her to a hospital at once!"
"I will," Riddle replied firmly. "And –"
He hesitated. There was a loaded silence.
"Thank you for your hospitality," he finished civilly.
"Of course," Riddle Senior breathed.
Riddle nodded and steered Marina back into the wooden panelled entrance room and out the large, still open doors. The gravel crunched under their feet as they sped down the path before the house, and Marina saw little red circles splattering upon the rocks as they went.
She felt her own face and her hand came away slick with blood. She stared at it, surprised with the volume. "I'm bleeding," she said numbly.
"I know," Riddle said tensely, casting a glance back over his shoulder towards the manor. "But they're still watching, so we can't leave yet."
Marina nodded, the motion making her vision waver and she closed her eyes. "What do you mean leave?" she said, frowning, "the Horcrux, you haven't –"
"We can handle that another time," Riddle interrupted, speeding his pace as Marina felt a tickling in her ear and she realised that she was bleeding there, too. "Right now, we need to get you back to Dumbledore." They were just passing the end of the path and Riddle turned to hurry towards the small wooded area where they would be invisible from the manor.
"I'm sorry," Marina said distantly, stumbling as the dizziness grew. "You should have brought Dumbledore. I ruined your meeting –"
"Don't be stupid," Riddle said curtly as he let her lean against a tree. "Where's the timeturner?"
Marina pulled it with clumsy fingers from under her jumper and Riddle took it at once, dipping his head as he looped it around his own neck.
"Wait," Marina said urgently, before he could press the button.
"What?" he asked irritably.
"Are you sure about this?" she said, trying to focus on his face. "What if we can't come back? What if –"
"Marina," he interrupted, "you are going to die if we don't get you to St Mungo's, do you understand that?"
As if to demonstrate his point, the same hot pain roiled under her skin and Marina cried out as her hand went to her stomach, tugging up her sweater to see what was happening. They both stared. As they watched, cherry red stains blossomed up to the surface of her skin, immediately freezing in place and turning purple, then green, then a sickly yellow, only to be replaced by another surge of red. It was as if her body were bleeding and bruising on some impossibly fast pace.
"What…" she whispered, tears budding and stinging as they mixed with blood, turning her vision mottled pink. She looked up at Riddle, feeling terror rise.
His gaze lifted from her bruising skin to her eyes, and she was not encouraged by the panic that she saw there. Before he could react, her balance gave out and she collapsed limply. The timeturner chain, still looped over both of their necks, snapped with a delicate chime as she fell.
"No!" Riddle yelled, catching her by the arm to stop her from hitting the ground as his other hand scrambled for the falling timeturner. He let her down as gently as he could and was kneeling, staring horrified at the broken chain in his hands.
"I can't fix it," he said hollowly. "I don't have – I can't –"
Marina moaned as the pain mounted again. Her head felt light and her body felt borderless, her hands and feet felt cold. She pressed her hands to her face to try to ground herself, but it was so wet with blood that she jerked away, revolted.
Riddle didn't hesitate – he threw one arm around Marina's shoulders and pressed the button on the timeturner with his other hand.
At once they were hurtling through the angry orange storm of the timeturner, the gut-wrenching sensation of centrifugal force pulling at Marina's already twisting stomach and making her cry out. The spells on the timeturner that had once kept them somewhat together had been broken, and the force was pulling them apart as they spun through the raging, roiling clouds.
She felt herself slipping.
"Tom!" she shouted as his grasp on her shoulders weakened. He tried to hold her jumper, but she was pulled from his grip and he grabbed at her arm instead. They caught hands but they were so slick with blood that neither could hold on properly.
"Marina!" he yelled over the deafening roar of the storm. He shoved the timeturner into his pocket and was trying frantically to grab her other flailing hand, struggling to find purchase on her bloody skin.
"Tom!" she cried again, terror pulsing through her as the clouds pressed in on her from all sides. The spinning did not relent, and all at once their grip on each other finally failed.
For one moment, elongated by the adrenaline and fear, Marina saw Riddle's face contorted with fear and his still outstretched hands red with her blood. Then the moment was gone, and there was only chaos as she was flung into the storm of the flickering timestream.
A/N: Y'all knew this had to break bad eventually, right?
Also: Just a note on the discussions about Tom's dad. I was very cautious about writing this part, obviously it deals with some very sensitive and serious topics that also have real world implications. I did quite a lot of reading about it beforehand to try to make sure I covered it both accurately and sensitively. I didn't want anyone to think that I took it lightly.
If you'd like that reading list (I mostly focused on articles around children conceived from non-consensual unions, forced pregnancies through sabotaging contraception, and reproductive autonomy) just message me and I can send you the sources.