Chapter 1:
THE BIRTH OF THE RIDDLE
New Year's Eve, 1926
It was a dark, cold, rainy night in London. The trees were violently dancing to the wailing song of the strong wind. Their gnarled branches slowly breaking off from their corrupted bodies. Their leaves were falling concealing the slippery, muddy ground. The sky was angry and was throwing thunder and lightning every now and then. It was as if the world agreed with the emotions she was feeling. Merope Gaunt Riddle, a damaged, defeated young woman tried to find some form of shelter amidst the storm. She stumbled and slid on the muddy ground, immediately picking herself up each time. She held on to her womb every time she would fall afraid that something terrible would happen to the child she was carrying. It was getting colder and colder for her. Alas, she finally sees a house. She knocked on the antique oak double doors. An elderly woman, who looked very stiff, answered the door with a rigid looking expression on her wrinkled face.
"What can I do for you child?" she said coldly with her raspy, deep voice, as if she already knew what Merope's answer would be.
"I-I th-think I am about to give birth", answered Merope stuttering while trying to catch her breath.
"Oh, you think you are? Right then, come inside." said the old woman blankly.
Merope entered the house. It was old, but immaculately clean. The wooden floor was worn out but spotless. The walls were painted a clean white, spotless as well. There were ornamental paintings that were placed neatly upon the walls. Some furniture stood still in the corner of the hall, a floor lamp and an odd looking wooden table upon which a statue of a beautiful young girl lovingly embracing her son was nestled safely inside a glass casement. All of these, of course, were dustless. Not a speck of dust in the room, the whole place was squeaky clean. The only thing or person out of place was Merope. She stood with clothes drenched from the rain and muddy shoes, in the middle of the dimly lit hallway examining the house and waiting for a signal from the old woman as to where she should proceed. The old woman with her wrinkled hand, signaled Merope to follow her. She turned her back to Merope and entered another room at the end of the hall. Merope looked around the room. It was a small room, dimly lit like the rest of the house, with space for just one single sized bed, a chair and side-table. On top of the side-table rested a basin, some medicine bottles and disinfectants. There was a stack of towels neatly folded on the bed. Merope did not care about how she was going to give birth or where. In fact, she thought to herself that this orphanage was quite at par with the living condition she was actually used to. At that moment, the only thing important to her was the survival of her child.
"You're all I've got...Of him" she whispered to the child in her womb.
Suddenly, she felt a sharp pain. The old woman who was standing across the room saw liquid running down her legs.
"You're about to give birth child! Can you manage to get to the bed?" exclaimed the old woman.
Merope merely nodded and calmly proceeded to the bed. She laid down on the bed nervously. She clutched the pillow which was behind her head. The old woman placed several towels beneath her legs and asked her to bite on a dampened towel that she placed in Merope's mouth.
"Eleanor! Fetch me some hot water!" Yelled the old woman.
Merope felt her entire body aching. She was shivering, cold sweat breaking through her skin. Living had always been a chore for her and it was even more so, at that moment. She just wanted to rid her body of the child she was carrying. She didn't care if she were to survive after giving birth. She just wanted the child to live. She, on the contrary, even contemplated death as a relief. As she was pondering on these thoughts, a woman appeared in the room carrying a kettle of hot water.
"Put the water in the basin", ordered the old woman. Merope was putting every inch of her strength into her breathing.
"Breathe child!" demanded the old woman.
"I am trying" Merope said softly.
"Push!" yelled the old woman.
"Push! Grab onto the pillow if you must. Just push! The child is almost out! Push as hard as you can!" she instructed.
Merope pushed as hard as she could. With every ounce of her strength she was able to deliver the child.
"It's a boy!" declared the woman named Eleanor.
The baby boy cried out loud. The old woman turned to Merope after fixing the baby to a right state, removing his umbilical cord and wrapping him in clean towels.
"What is his name?" she asked Merope.
"Tom Marvolo Riddle" Merope answered in a whisper.
"What is your name child?" the old woman enquired.
"Merope. Merope Gaunt." She answered.
"I hope he grows up to look just like his father". She added trying to catch her breath.
The old woman smiled at her.
Merope felt the last inch of her strength running away from her as she stared at her son who was now quietly laying in her arms. She closed her eyes and whispered to him "Tom, you are wanted. I wanted you. But, I have to leave you. I must die, so you can fulfill the prophecy." The old woman stared at her funnily. It was as if Merope spoke another strange language, foreign to those around her. With her last hiss, Merope Gaunt left this world. She gave birth to the child who will one day become the one of the most powerful wizards to ever live. Of course, she knew that.