She had watched him from behind windows, through cracks of half opened doors and between the leaves of the hedges. She had seen all the girls he brought home. She watched them giggle as he stroked their face. She'd hear them moan with pleasure as he kissed their neck. She had followed his hand as it moved down to the opening of each of their shirts. She would watch it every time each with a new girl. She would watch it every time and wish it was her, sitting in the carriage.
And then she'd notice a figure move silently behind her and she would perk up and pretend to be doing something or looking for something. It was a forbidden love. She knew it would never happen and it would be a dream forever. She dreamt it often, and every time there would be a man there. A man with wide shoulders and long arms, haunting her with every step she took. A man who she had learned to stay far away from. A man who was supposed to be her father. She had been afraid of him for as long as she could remember. Never once did she remember a happy, caring father. Never once did she remember someone there to love her. Never once had she felt freedom, until she was dawned with a stroke of luck.
She was alone. For once in her life, she was alone. And she had courage. For once in her life, she wasn't so afraid.
She spoke to him one day. The day he was alone. He was tired, and thirsty. She offered him a cup of water, which he drank thankfully. He drank it down to the last drop. His expression changed, as she suddenly grew more attractive with every gulp. He never wanted to leave her side after that. He wanted to be there with her, all the time. She had gotten her dream.
They ran away together, leaving their old past behind them. It was her dream come true, and she couldn't have been happier. But there was always a twinge of guilt with her, everywhere she went. The guilt that his feelings for her weren't real. She lived like that for a while. She lived with his smiles as she entered the room. She lived with the kisses he would give her for no reason at all. But after a while, it began to hurt her. It began to hurt her when ever he did anything showing affection.
It wasn't real. It wasn't real, and it never would be. So she decided it, one evening, standing in her lovely decorated kitchen. She had a tray of two tea cups and a small bottle in her hand. Inside the bottle was a fluorescent pink liquid. She bit her lip looking from the cup to the bottle to the door leading to the living room. She sighed and poured the contents of the bottle down the drain. She emerged from the kitchen to him. He was looking curiously at her. She smiled at him and offered him a cup of tea. His affectionate smile was plastered back on his face as he drank, which brought pain to hers. Things remained the same that night. It wasn't until a couple days later when he showed the symptoms of the potion wearing off.
He stopped holding her hand. He kissed her less. He slept all the way on his side of the bed. This pains her almost just as much, but she remembered that these are his true feelings. This is what is real. With each day, he would become less loving with her, and with each day she'd become more and more sick. She had news. News that she knew would change both their lives forever, for better or for worse. She dreamt that he would realize that he loved her and he'd stay with her and things would go back to the way they were.
But things didn't. She told him, hoping he'd hug her and congratulate her, kiss her or do something. He sat there, with a dumb-founded look on his face. He sat there for a minute and then got up and went upstairs to their bedroom. She called after him and followed him. He had taken out a suitcase and began putting his clothes inside. She asked him to stop, as he made his way down the stairs. She pleaded with him to stay, as he neared the door. She begged him to stay for the baby, as he opened the door. He then stopped and turned to look at her, crying face.
"How could I ever love something like you?" he sneered to her as he shut the door behind him, leaving her broken, sobbing on the floor.
He returned home to his old village. The rumors circled around and things were never the same for him again. He blocked everything about her out of his mind and tried not to think of it ever again. And things went down hill for her then. She had to sell their beautiful muggle house and all of their beautiful muggle things in their beautiful muggle neighborhood and went back into the dumps of the wizarding world.
She lived on the streets, dirty and ragged, a small lump forming around her belly. She was dirty, always muttering to herself. She begged for change, food anything. People looked at her. Some were disgusted, others pitiful, but none were generous. She'd dig through the trash cans in Diagon Alley searching for the tiniest scrap of food.
She needed food. She needed something to keep the baby alive. She sold her bracelets and her rings, but that still didn't get her much. She needed food, she needed something. She finally came to her last resort, the thin gold chain around her neck. She sold that locket to a short stubby man for a couple galleons, which last her until she came to the step of the nearest orphanage.
She had her baby, told the ladies she hoped he'd have his father's looks; she prayed he'd be loved and have great opportunities. They asked her what his name was to be.
"Tom," she said, "for his father."
"Marvolo," she said, "for my father."
"Riddle."
She looked at the small creature, squirming and crying. She kissed his forehead and died..