The Houses Competition: [Y7] Round Eight - Never be Forgotten
House: Hufflepuff
Position: DADA
Type: Standard
Prompt: [First Line] Today marked the last day that she would see her mother/father/sister/brother/husband/wife/fiancé/fiancée/daughter/son/child
Word Count: 2533
Today marked the last day that she would see her child. Today also marked the day she would give birth. Merope had enough magical instinct left in her to realize that much. She rolled to a sitting position in her room on the second floor of the Leaky Cauldron and stood to dress. In the mirror, she saw her swollen belly straining the fabric of her dress. She rubbed her hand over it.
"If you're a boy, I'll call you Tom just like your father," she promised the child she carried, "and if you're a girl, it will be Alice after your grandmother." The child rarely kicked, but she felt them twist as if in response to her words.
Merope ventured downstairs and left two sickles from the remaining three she had left from selling her family locket to pay for her board and a small breakfast of buttered toast and milk. She stood and momentarily debated whether to go through the back into Diagon Alley or to return to muggle London. She remembered dreaming of Diagon Alley as a young girl when her father would rant and rage about the muggle-born Hogwarts' admits who flooded it every fall. Until recently, though, she had no reason to go. Marvolo certainly did not see any need to bring his apparently talentless daughter to collect books or supplies. Even her wand had been simply mail ordered and flown by owl to the shack where she had lived with her father and brother.
Merope forced her thoughts back to the present, and she turned for the door that led to muggle London. Her child would grow up safe and anonymous from her father and brother. With any luck, they wouldn't be burdened with magic and could grow up handsome and respected like their father.
The streets of London were still densely populated even in the early morning. Christmas decorations from the week before still hung from window sills, whilst signs in shop windows advertised their end of year sales. Merope folded in on herself as a man in a suit forced his way past her on the sidewalk.
For some time, she wandered the streets of London, observing the children playing and mothers carrying shopping bags of groceries down the road. Around midday, she realized she was on a residential street and was quite unsure of how to get back to the city center.
"Excuse me," she asked of a trio of teenage girls giggling as they walked down the street, "I'm rather afraid I'm lost. Could you tell me where I am?"
"You're in Hampstead," pointed out the tallest of the girls, "the nearest underground station is that way." The girls left, resuming their chatting and leaving Merope quite lost. What was an underground? And how could she navigate around Hampstead?
Looking around, Merope noticed a white house with a garden out front. Snow covered the stately bushes, but someone had shoveled the brick walkway through the garden. She wandered down it and peaked in the windows. The first window she peeked through had a kitchen maid, hard at work cooking a turkey on a spit. The second featured a family with three small children, two boys and one girl. The mother sat playing the piano in front of a warm fire while the children played with toys on the rug. A thought occurred to her. This family had plenty of money and space. Perhaps they would welcome her child too?
The father looked up from his newspaper. Merope caught a glance of the date in the corner, December 31st 1926. The father looked up and noticed the bedraggled woman peering through his window. He jolted to his feet and stormed from the room. Distantly Merope felt the impulse to flee, but she was too tired. She settled for shuffling out of view of the window. Within a minute, the man came striding down the garden path. He was considerably taller than Merope and stood close enough to make the difference in height readily apparent. She flinched back. He glanced at her swollen stomach, but did not mention it.
"Why are you here?" he asked firmly, "do you intend to rob us?"
"Please sir," Merope took a step back, "I'm unwell. I need somewhere safe for the child."
The man narrowed his eyes at her, "Then you should cease snooping around my home. There's a church down the street. You can ask there for assistance. Or find your way to the workhouse."
Merope squeezed her lips together to stop herself from crying, "Sir, the child's father is – is wonderful. I just want to assure them a good home."
The man appeared unsympathetic, "Then you should ask the child's father. Leave my property before I call the authorities."
Merope hesitated, then turned and moved as quickly as she could away from the house.
She wandered for several hours. The sun was beginning to set and a winter chill was closing in. Merope clutched her cloak closer to her body. The streets were still crowded with revelers. A man carrying his child on his shoulders showed his elderly mother into a favorite restaurant as Merope passed them on the street. At the smell of cooked food wafting from the door as it was open, her stomach started to grumble unpleasantly. She had not eaten since the toast that morning at the Leaky Cauldron.
Across the street a small market sat with electric lights illuminating displays of butcher meat, vegetables, and cheese inside the small shop. Merope wandered over and hesitated outside the door. The shingle announced "Miller's Fine Groceries" and was decorated with electric candles. She wandered in.
"Happy New Year's Eve," the teenage boy operating the till greeting her, "Anything I can help you find?"
"No, I'm just browsing," Merope deferred. She wandered through the small shop. There were plates of sliced salami and goat cheese. Candy covered apples sat on a small table near the register. Her stomach rumbled again, and she fingered the sole remaining sickle in her pocket. It would be no good in a muggle shop and she had no way of finding her way back to the Leaky Cauldron.
Merope glanced back at the cashier. He was busy restocking a display of cabbages. Confident he was distracted and skilled from long years of hiding anything she valued from her father and brother, Merope reached out and grabbed a roll of salami and a disk of brie and forced them into the pockets of her robes. She began to walk out of the store, attempting to look casual. The teenager finished his work and wandered back towards the till. He stopped at the display Merope had just left and stared for a moment. She walked faster. Apparently, the cashier noticed the empty spots where the salami and cheese had been. He called out, "Hey, hold up! Turn out your pockets."
Merope did not stop. Instead, she broke into a run, pursued by the shopkeeper. Given her condition, she could not run particularly quickly, and to her dismay, two uniformed police officers stood chatting on the street outside the shop as they distractedly directed traffic.
"Officers!" called out the teenager, "She just stole from my shop. She's a thief!"
The two police stood in front of Merope, "Is that true?" asked one. Merope reached into a pocket and felt her wand. She'd never been much good with magic and had only grown weaker since Tom had left her. There was no way to magic her way out of this situation in full view of numerous muggles. She withdrew her hand and reached into the pocket that held the salami and cheese, offering it to the officers. One of them took the items and returned them to the shopkeeper.
"Hold up!" the man carrying his child on his shoulders earlier appeared and addressed the police, "What's going on here?"
"This lady stole from my shop," exclaimed the teenager, disdain in his voice.
The man eyed the salami and cheese and the tired woman standing in the middle of their little crowd. Then he returned and addressed the cashier,
"How much do they cost?"
"Sir she's a thi –" the man cut off the cashier,
"Everybody deserves some goodwill this time of year. How much does it cost?"
"Fifty pence, sir," admitted the cashier. The man handed him his money. Reluctantly, and with a glare at Merope, he returned to the shop. The police, with nothing else to do, resumed their conversation. The man readjusted his child on his shoulders and turned to Merope. Snow was starting to fall from the ever-cooler night sky, weighing down Merope's old and threadbare clothing.
"Do you have a place to stay tonight?"
Merope contemplated her answer. She was grateful this man had bought her food, and she ripped into it ravenously. She wasn't willing, however, to tell him that she didn't expect to survive the night nor that the first labor pains had already started, although still infrequently.
The man seemed to interpret her silence as a negative answer. "There's no space in my flat, I'm afraid. We've already crammed my parents and my cousins in there for the season. There's an orphanage not far from here, though. I've heard they give shelter to women – well, women who find themselves in need of help." The man pointed down the street, "They're down that way, and then you take a right. Wool's orphanage."
Wool's orphanage turned out to be a large brick building with classical pillars in front and a brick tower rising from the roof. Merope hesitated a moment at the door before raising the heavy brass knocker and letting it fall back down. She took a step back. Shortly afterwards a young woman, probably around 18, opened the door.
Merope spoke first, "Please, I need a place to stay. I –" she grit her teeth and waited for the pain to pass. The girl seemed to be familiar with what to do.
"Miss Markins!" she called up the stairs, "There's a woman here!" Moments later a matronly woman, perhaps in her mid-30s trundled down the stairs.
"That's very good, Miss Cole, go prepare a room now," she ordered. The younger woman scurried off.
"Come now," Miss Markins said, helping Merope lean her weight against her. "It's not far."
They passed a playroom where small children played with wooden toys. A few were engaged by older children or orphanage workers while more played alone. Further on was a cafeteria where school-aged children stood in line, chatting as they awaited their designated serving. Finally, they arrived at a room that was sparsely furnished except for a bed apparently freshly made with clean sheets. After helping Merope down, Miss Markins turned her attention back to the younger woman,
"Miss Cole, please call a midwife and ask her to come." Miss Cole nodded and ran off.
The child was born before the midwife was able to arrive. Miss Markins looked at the clock.
"Baby boy. January 31, 1926 10:38pm", she noted. "He's a tiny little thing, isn't he?" She bundled the baby into a blanket and handed him to Merope.
Merope looked at her son. He was indeed tiny, with a shock of jet black hair just like his father's, and a tiny button nose. She smiled as the newborn managed to free a hand from his blankets and reach for her face.
"I want to name him Tom, for his father." She explained to Miss Markin, "and I want his middle name to be Marvolo, for his grandfather."
Miss Markin nodded, "Does he have a surname?"
"Riddle, like his father," each word was taking Merope precious energy now, "I hope he – he looks like his father." Miss Markin nodded and handed Miss Cole a piece of paper.
"The birth information," she explained, "take it to the registry tomorrow."
She focused her attention on Merope, "I'll leave, give you some time to get to know your son."
With that, Merope found herself alone in the room. Once again, she reached for her wand.
"You look so much like your father," she murmured to the infant. She knew a few first aid spells. Surely, for her son, she could muster enough strength to cast one and keep herself going.
She slumped back against the pillow, her thoughts filling with memories of Tom. Of how he'd ride past her little hovel on his graceful bay horse. She thought of their wedding. Tom had been a little groggy from the love potion, but he had still danced so beautifully. They had danced late into the evening and Merope had been sure Tom would mean safety from the kind of life her father and brother had set out for her.
But now Tom was gone. Neither her love for him nor attachment to his unborn son had persuaded him to stay. The rejection had killed most of the little magic Merope had left in her. Afterwards, she didn't even have the skill to brew a further love potion and so was forced to travel to London and live in poverty as she awaited the child.
She forced her wand arm off the bed, reviewing the incantation that would force vigor into limbs and allow her to raise her son off her stomach and hold him to her breast, but she couldn't do it. Without Tom, what could she offer the little boy? Just a little shack, abandoned since her father and brother had been carted off to Azkaban and filled with bad memories. It would be better to let Tom Jr. grow up here, she thought as her mind grew foggy, he'd have a better childhood than any she had known.
"I'm sorry Tom," she whispered, "I can't stay." With that, Merope spoke no more.
Miss Markin held the infant, rocking him gently in her arms. In the distance, the church bells rang, welcoming in a new year. In the streets below, a chorus of humanity raised their voices and in an unharmonious rendition of Auld Lang Syne. Miss Cole entered the room, fresh from sending some older children who had been waiting for midnight to their beds.
"She didn't make it, then?" She asked.
"No, she didn't," Miss Markin's voice was soft.
"I've heard it said it's good luck for a baby to be born on New Year's Eve. Father Time gives them some of his life as the old year dies so that they might live many years."
Miss Markin smiled sadly at her youngest employee and then gazed at the infant sleeping in her arms.
"This one has had such a hard start. His mother, from what little we will be able to tell him, had neither a long life nor a happy one. I hope you are right, such a child needs all the blessings he can get."
Oblivious to the conversation, Tom slept, not yet knowing what he had lost. The day would come where he would have to make the choices that would determine the direction of his life. But for now, with the sound of bells and singing in the background, he could sleep.