Author's Note: WHEEEEEE!!! I am out of school for the summer!!!!
So, did you like it? I just love starting off a story like that! It's so much fun! Anyway, this is still mostly background. Parents and birth up to the orphanage … the last chapter was really more general background stuff…. Sort of. There is angst here, you have been warned. Not as bad as some future chapters, but it's there.
Thanks go to CJ and cherrycola69 for their reviews, I love you guys! (All you Harry/ Draco fans, cherrycola69 has an absolutely awesome fic called Mine that you should all read… beautiful writing and a sequel in progress! Mixture of angst and romance.. Anyway, go read it. ^.~ Also a new fic called This Side of Me: very nice!) YES!!! Fifth book finally coming out!! Yippee!!
You would not believe what I got last week: The Sorcerer's Companion, a guide to the magical world of Harry Potter. That has got to be one of the coolest books in the world! I love it and I'm busy reading it: it's been a wonderful help for this story. And I think Arithmancy is my favorite subject now. You people should try it sometime: very cool. Tom Riddle turned out almost exactly as I have him mapped for this story!! I don't know whether to thank the gods for giving me the inspiration or praise J.K. Rowling as a genius. If she's thinking the same personality as I came up with, it would get really, really weird. (For those of you that don't know, Arithmancy is a form of fortune telling, using numbers assigned to the letters and then adding up the values of names. Awesome. I'm thinking of doing a fic where I post the arithmancy (learned from said book) of all the HP characters. Sounds appealing but I don't know if people would like it. I certainly do but I'm content with keeping my amazing discoveries to myself most of the time.)
If I get any research wrong, or there's anything you think I really need to be aware of (England, 1930's) PLEASE TELL ME!!!
Finally, I really do not know a lot about twins. I am not a twin and have not know very many closely. So I'm going to do my best but if I totally screw up somewhere then please tell me.
Warning: angst, much angst, and death. Don't flame me about it, I warned you.
Disclaimer: Really, does anyone honestly think I could ever own Tom Riddle? Or any part of the Harry Potter world for that matter? Didn't think so. Just the plot.
Chapter 2: Tom Marvolo Riddle
(A/n: just so everyone knows, if any of this seems to be beyond the scope of what someone should know of their parents (and it probably will), just remember that Tom is a tool of Destiny: he's allowed a little more understanding than most people. He has to know all parts of his past to be the person he is. Also, his mother liked to tell stories, as you will see.)
Love is an amazing thing. It can blind or reveal. It binds people together with something that can't be put into words. Love can be wonderful, a beautiful dream that carries you away as if you were floating on a cloud, or it can be painful, sending you to the brink of despair and leaving you there with nothing to hold onto when the last straw hits and you topple over it. It can be used to manipulate and influence. There is a very fine edge to walk in love, between bliss and pain, the line between love and hate is miles wide by comparison. But sometimes the two affect each other, love becoming pain instead of bliss and progressing on to hate. My parents loved each other, and they taught me how dangerous it was, to trust another person so completely. Not that I actually learned the lesson until many years later.
My father came from a very old, traditional muggle family. For generations they stood aloof, not lowering themselves to deal with 'common' people or even leaving their ancestral home for anything less than crisis. They trusted technology even less than they trusted magic. My father was the only child his parents had and they tried to give him anything he could want, without letting him out of their sight. But what Tom Riddle really wanted was to travel; to see the world and experience its enchantment untainted by the years of dusty opinions and watching from afar that coated his daily life. His parents protested, declaring that a Riddle had no place there, no need to travel when they could watch the world turn from the comfort, peace, and safety. But my father didn't particularly care. His parents were too used to giving him his own way to have the strength to stop him.
So Tom Riddle set out to see the world. He traveled around Europe for a few years, and when the Great War started he was ready. He was old enough and fit enough to make it in the army. After the war, four years later, he was recovering from a bullet wound to his leg when he met my mother.
Silva Slytherin did not share her ancestor's distaste for muggles. Actually, at that point in time she pitied them. Only muggles could get themselves involved in something so stupid as a war involving the entire world and celebrate the men who had killed thousands because they were on the side that won, and the side that won was always right. So, in order to put her conscience at rest, she decided to do something to help them, which is how she ended up nursing wounded soldiers back to health.
Mother always said that it was love at first sight, but I think that was just her opinion. Father, if he ever heard her saying so, would laugh, give her a hug and agree, only to tell me later that she may have been in love at first sight, but he had been extremely annoyed to have a young teenage girl caring for him rather than an experienced nurse who knew what she was doing. Of course, that didn't stop him from asking her out the day he was released from the hospital.
I have never been able to figure out what my parents ever saw in each other. Father was five years older than Mother, and if not for the blatant fact that she loved until she died, I would have said that my mother married for money. Not that she particularly needed it; the Slytherins were quite well off before the line died out. As for my father, I think the main reason he married my mother was for her beauty. She was of a good bloodline, she had money, and she was very beautiful. His parents couldn't refuse the match. And they had to agree that with her sparking blue eyes, silky black hair, slim body, and seemingly little want for anything but what they offered, she could make fine contributions to the Riddle line. Namely beautiful, intelligent children. Of course, this was before any of them knew she was a witch and the reason she didn't have any records of her education was not because she had been privately tutored, but because she had attended a School of Witchcraft and Wizardry somewhere in central Europe. And my mother, far more intelligent than she ever let her new relatives realize, managed to keep it that way for quite some time.
My parents were married four years after they met, on a beautiful spring morning in May of 1922. My mother was 18. Old Riddle Sr. and his shrewd wife expected to be grandparents within the year. A year went by and they received no indication that Silva was even pregnant, or had been at any point. When they confronted Father about it he could only say that he didn't know what the problem was. They should have had a child by that time.
Mother was keeping herself from getting pregnant, terrified of childbirth and the problems a child would create in what she viewed as the perfect life; particularly since any child of hers was sure to be magical, and would have no way or reason to not use that magic at any time. Wizard children aren't exactly known for their self-control. But eventually she had to give in; she loved my father too much to deny him the heir he wanted. So, after two years of near blissful marriage, she stopped drinking the anti-fertility potions, fully intent on going through with the pregnancy that would inevitably result. But in the end she just wasn't ready. Over the next year my mother was pregnant twice; the first time she wasn't able to carry the child to term, due to the lingering effects of the potion. My parents cried over my unborn sibling, and my mother was extremely careful the next time she found herself pregnant. She was not going to risk losing her second child as well and was determined to go through the pain and inconvenience for the sake of her husband. Of course the expecting grandparents were ecstatic when it was discovered that she was carrying twins.
The details of the nine months before my sister and I were born have never been revealed to me, but the night of my birth is remarkably clear. Mother told me once that that night was the night she lost the man she loved. It was the night that Tom Riddle fell out of love with her, even if it took her years to realize it. That night she revealed the fact that she was a witch. She didn't mean to of course, she never meant for him to find out much less on the night of his children's birth. But it just happened. Even though, or perhaps because, she had worked as a nurse in a muggle hospital, Mother was extremely nervous about giving birth in one; she was positive that they would make the process entirely more troublesome and painful than it was worth. All she wanted to do was call a medi-witch to the house to help her. No need for all the fuss. Of course that would reveal to her mistrusting relatives that something was wrong, and she simply couldn't refuse the pleading in my father's eyes when he begged her to go to the hospital. So she went. When the contractions really started she regretted the decision and started screaming at him; first in anger, then pleading and all but demanding that he go back to the house and get the wooden stick that was in the back right corner of the drawer of her bedside table. My father, completely confused asked her how in the world that would help. And that was when she made the mistake, too delirious to stop herself. In a fit of what she later labeled pain induced insanity, she told him that she was a witch and if he would just give her the god-forsaken wand then she could take care of the whole business herself, thanks much.
She didn't see him until a few days or so after our birth. By that time she'd named us and almost given up on him; no matter how it broke her heart, she needed to take care of the two of us. But he came back, all smiles and apologies, claiming it was just such a shock to him, and could she ever forgive him for leaving her like that? Mother, in her turn, was all but begging him to forgive her the moment he walked through the door.
I don't believe he ever did.
* . *
The earliest memory I have is from when I was around four years old, and it's not exactly a happy family memory.
*
The slivers of glass are sharp under my small fingers as I try to find every piece of what was once a simple looking glass. /Seven yeas bad luck/ I'm on my knees, sinking slightly into the rich dark carpet of my parent's bedroom, hoping I won't have to dig any razor edged chips out of the long strands. I can see the thin streams of blood flowing from the cuts on my hands, disappearing into the burgundy rug, the wounds don't hurt yet, they're too fine for that. I know that they'll sting horribly later. I place each section in its part of the frame; father insisted that it was the only way to make sure I got all the pieces, I consider it impossible anyway. I run my small fingers through the carpet, searching for any last bits before settling back on my heels with a sigh. The door at my back opens softly and I can hear Kaya's soft footsteps towards me. She crouches down, a warm presence at my side, and takes my hands. She says something, but I can't remember what, and dabs gently at the cuts with a washcloth.
*
Kaya, my twin sister, was an amazing person. She understood things, things no child should have been able to understand she took in without a blink. Such as the way we were forced to grow up quickly, no time to experience childhood. Not with Mother in the state she was. When I was sad or upset or frustrated or hurt, Kaya always knew exactly what to do to make me feel better. Even at the age of four we already had a sort of understanding about our 'grown up relatives'. Mother needed to be taken care of, Father was not to be trusted with secrets or complete truth, and our grandparents must never suspect that we were anything but normal children. Father was too ashamed to tell them and Mother knew better than to encourage her in-laws' wrath, so we kept silent, controlling emotions as well as we could. Not that we really needed to worry too much, as neither of us used magic very often in our early life; I discovered very early on the magic I could perform, Kaya following closely after, but after the initial burst nearly everything we did was intentional. Healing was what Kaya did most, loved most. She almost encouraged me to get myself into as much trouble as I could just so she could patch me up. So of course, I did; I never even tried to resist. That was just the way we did things, she trusted everything I did to have some sort of reason behind it, to mean something to me if no one else, and I trusted her to clean me up and smile at my recklessness. I depended on her for that, and other things. I depended on her to be there to comfort me, to help me to understand the things I couldn't see any reason for. She was the warm presence at my side that always spoke reason, was always reaching out to help others. And she depended on me to listen to her, to love her unconditionally and to remember her forever, no matter what happened. She needed me to enforce her, to make sure she got the things she set out to do done, and to be my short tempered, extremely emotional self.
We clung to each other like burrs, supporting and encouraging each other when there was no one else to do so. Mother, loving and intelligent as she was, couldn't give us that support and trust. She had invested all her trust, all her support and hope and love into our father. And she didn't think she had or didn't have much left for us. Oh she loved us, she played with us and taught us to control our magic and told us stories about our heritage and the history of the wizarding world, but she couldn't put enough emotion into her feelings for us to understand us. She couldn't know us enough to truly care as she did for Father.
So we cared for her. We, well, we used her, in a way, and protected her. Not the same way Father used her but using her all the same. We could see, even if she couldn't, that Father didn't love her as she thought he did, or at least he was more intent on the pain side of love than the bliss. And we knew that some day it would be too dangerous to stay any longer where he could touch us. So we waited, neither of us brave or strong enough to plant the idea of leaving into her head. There was a sense of expectancy around us, an almost tangible haze that Kaya tried to identify and pack into a neat little box. I just accepted that we didn't have lots of time, no more than a few years, and tried to ignore the tingles it sent up my spine.
We extracted as many stories out of Mother as we could; seizing the time we had to learn as much as possible about the world, our family, and magic. Mother loved to tell those stories, especially while we worked in the garden (or she worked and we asked questions while playing with the plants; not to mention the occasional snake). We nearly lived in that garden; eating picnic meals, working and playing in the sun all day, and Kaya and I often fell asleep out there. I especially loved it when the snakes visited, usually on sunny summer days. The first time Mother found me talking to one she was ecstatic, kept going on about how I was a true descendent of Salazar Slytherin and a Parseltongue. It confused me; how could I do it when neither Mother nor Kaya couldn't? There had to be more to it than just bloodlines. But Mother didn't know the answers, and for once Kaya was the one pointing out that we really didn't have the resources to figure it out so I should just stop worrying about it. I tried to ignore it, really I did, but something about being Slytherin's heir made me nervous, as if I wasn't in control of my own life anymore. I wasn't of course, but that was information I didn't fully realize until much later.
All stories were told when Father wasn't home; once he came home, Kaya and I had to protect Mother. Nothing obvious or truly preventive, but we stayed within sight and hearing at all times, usually begging him for attention; we hugged him and I pleaded for him to throw me into the air and twirl me around, and Kaya demanded to be read to and we took up as much of his time as we could so that he couldn't hurt Mother. Not that there weren't other reasons, he was still our father, and no matter how we wished he wouldn't play with Mother's emotions so, we still loved him and craved his attention and love in return. Eventually he would send us off to bed and we would huddle together under the blankets, praying that he was in a good mood, that he wouldn't reduce mother into the sobbing, desperate wreck we found more and more often as the years went on.
The situation grew worse and worse; he started to ignore Kaya and me, shouting and arguing with mother right in front of us. He stopped allowing her even slight use of her magic, asked did she want him to betray his parents? It was so hard for him to lie to them; did she really want to make his life so miserable? And Mother cried and said no, no, she would never wish that, she loved him with all her heart, she'd stop using magic. He restricted her further and further, until she was barely allowed out of the house; he was rarely home anymore but when he did come back he didn't have time for games. He didn't have time for Mother's love or Kaya's stories, or my pranks. He hit me first, I think. When I was five I broke a vase that had been a wedding present from our grandparents. It wasn't badly broken, only about five pieces, and I was putting it back together, hoping that Kaya would come help me soon because it was really complicated to fit the pieces together intentionally. Father came up behind me, blocking my light, and I looked up to the utter fury in his eyes. He didn't say anything, just stared down at me until I stood up; somehow he managed to convey both his disappointment in me for breaking the vase and his rage at my using magic to try and fix it. Then, once I was properly chastised, he reached out and slapped me across the face. I stared up at him in disbelief and horror as tears welled in my eyes and threatened to spill over. His gaze didn't waver it just, changed, somehow, and he spoke.
"That was for the magic, Marvolo. It's a weakness, it's barbaric. A Riddle has no use for weakness, and a Riddle takes responsibility for his actions do you understand me Marvolo?" I didn't move. He hadn't taken responsibility for marrying a witch had he? Maybe he had, in his way. Perhaps he thought that the best thing he could do was to be sure she never used magic again. I can see, now, some of the reasons why he was so insistent about magic. I think, on some level, he was terrified to be within fifty meters of the house sometimes, what with the political situation then. Not that I understood any of that then.
"Marvolo?" I nodded hesitantly, still a little shocked by both the fact that he had hit me and that, for the first time in my life, he was talking as if I really were his son and not some child he got stuck rearing. Then again, he was still calling me Marvolo, after my mother's father. I didn't know whether to be pleased or hurt. Not that it mattered, he'd already turned away, and I was left to ponder alone until Kaya came looking for me.
That wasn't the last time he hit me, and it wasn't long before Mother and Kaya also came under his hand.
I think we were all in denial, really. None of us, not Mother, not Kaya, not me, none of us could believe that it would progress beyond hitting, that any of us were in any truly threatening danger. Even as Father's temper grew shorter, and the laughing Tom Riddle my mother fell in love with, the man who spun me though the air laughing, faded behind a cold mask we couldn't quite bring ourselves to face the truth.
I never blamed myself for it. I might have been able to do something if I had been just a little more observant, but I was only six. Besides, the only person I really could blame was him. He claimed it was an accident, he cried and wailed and cursed fate but I had seen the look in his eyes when he saw them lying so still, the faintest flash of disappointment when he met my eyes and found me staring at him in shock. I saw the shock and anger when Mother, with her last wishes, moved me forever beyond his reach. And I noticed his display of emotion at the funeral, a play for the mourners as I stood and watched silently, unable to grieve the two people closest to me, numb from shock and pain and disbelief.
An accident the officials said. A driver who couldn't stop.
Five seconds difference between Kaya, and myself four seconds between Kaya and Mother, Father was still on the walk, fifteen seconds away from me. Fifteen seconds between two living, one mortally injured, and one dead. My sister was killed on impact, too shocked and used to pushing it away to let her magic save her. Mother had run towards her, trying to shield her and only managing to get hit herself. I stared in shocked surprise unable to react in the brief instant. Then I lifted my eyes deliberately. I had to see. And I met my father's eyes, saw the complete lack of shock as the driver swore and clambered out of his vehicle. He had known what was coming, had seen the monstrous thing bearing down on us and hadn't thought to warn them, hadn't remembered or cared that Mother didn't know about muggle traffic, that Kaya was only six and hadn't been away from the secluded area we lived in for some time. He had let them get hit, killed them, and his only regret was that I hadn't died as well.
He didn't speak to the driver, just stared at me as he let an expression of shock and horror take over before facing the man. I blacked out, only to wake later in the hospital, Mother lying still on the bed beside me, Father gripping her hand tight enough to nearly break it and sobbing. She lasted two days, waking twice in that time. The first time she just looked at my father, evaluating him, watching him, and finally coming to terms with what he was. The second time, she asked, with a doctor and two nurses as well as five patients (not including myself) as witnesses, that I not be allowed back into his care, but put into a home for children.
I was six and a half years old and had lost my twin sister and mother in one terrifying moment. I had also been given my first true taste of helplessness, my eyes had been opened to the realities of the world: that the people who know more, who have more power, are the ones who get their way. And I had already felt the first flicker of helpless rage and hate as I took a small trunk of clothes and a few simple books and walked away from the man I had once called Father. I would find a way to get my revenge, and I would make sure that no one was ever able to control my life so completely ever again.
Not that any of my life could ever really be under my control, but I didn't know anything about that yet. I was still young enough, still innocent enough, no matter what the circumstance, to believe that fate couldn't ever be fixed and I could hold my own future in my hands.
Notes: please leave a review! I know I haven't really explained about Destiny and everything yet but give the kid a break, he's SIX!! More angst ahead, and expect the next chapter up sooner. I'm juggling with Past Hauntings (If you like Gundam Wing, I'm begging you to go read it. . . and leave a review of course!) so it won't be immediate, but it will be soon. I have a lot of free time, and Harry Potter is taking over my mind, as you could tell by the number of fics I have added to my favorites list.
Please review, it means so much to me and it only takes about a minute. ^.~ (I'm sorry it has taken so long to get this up, I was done earlier but ff.net was not letting me upload! Sorry!)
