Thank you for reading! I don't own any of Harry Potter! Please let me know if you enjoy! Updates every Saturday!
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"I want to know everything, Mother." Tom said as he tapped his tapered fingers against the small dining table.
His dark gaze bore into Merope while he explained, "I want to know exactly who my father is and why……How did you meet him? How did you know him? Is he dead? Is he living? I want to-"
"-I don't know where your father is now, Tom!" Merope cried as she held up a hand to silence her son.
He frowned and watched her draw a deep breath as she closed her eyes.
Merope had spent every day since Tom's birth dreading that exact conversation.
Although ideas about what she would say had tumbled around in her mind for years, as she found herself trapped and unable to flee from the discussion, she realized she still didn't know how to proceed.
Should she lie?
Should she tell the truth?
"I'll know if you give me a falsehood, Mother." Tom scowled warningly.
Silence passed between them for a moment before Merope smirked at him as she asked, "...Will you?"
Tom's scowl eased as he momentarily lost a bit of his confidence.
"I know you better than you know yourself, my dear boy." Merope chuckled as she crossed her arms, "Was it not my womb in which you were formed?...Was it not my body that brought yours to life? If you're this involved with researching your ancestry, then surely you don't think you gained the talents you possess from a mere twist of fate."
The arrogant anger fell away from Tom's expression completely as his mouth slipped open.
"Go on, then." Merope challenged her son, "You think you can learn my thoughts? Go ahead! Learn them."
Merope nodded at Tom as he blinked in disbelief.
"Do it, Tom!" She shouted.
He started at the unexpected noise of his mother's cry before he reached into his pocket and pulled out his wand.
"A letter will come, Mother." He frowned, "The Ministry will ask questions….I'll be expelled."
"I am still a witch." Merope scowled, "And I will happily tell the Ministry I cast the spell on you myself when you showed up unannounced from school, distraught over an argument with a friend……..Do it…..Tom…..Do it."
Tom grasped his wand in his hand remorse passed over his handsome face as he pointed it at his mother.
"NOW!" Merope shrieked.
"LEGILIMENS!" Tom cried.
Tom felt the familiar whirling sensation he knew whenever he entered Harriet or anyone else's mind.
A part of him shamefully looked forward to needling his way through Merope's thoughts until a black wall appeared and threw him out of his spell with a gasp.
His wand shook in his trembling hand.
Tom's dark eyes widened as he stared at his mother's smirk.
"That's impossible!" He cried, "How could you possibly block me out?! You can barely manage any magic at all! You can-"
"-I can use the gifts of my inheritance quite well, my darling Tom." Merope grinned, "Legilimency, Occlumency……there's only so much of those rare talents that can be learned in a classroom. I may have been raised in squalor but the poor decisions of a few generations does not negate the nobility of a bloodline, let me assure you of that."
Tom frowned at Merope as he processed her words.
"So then……is it true?" Tom frowned, "Am I descended from Salazar Slytherin?...On your side?...Not my father's?"
Merope shrugged before she laughed and replied, "Since we're having this discussion, I may as well tell you that Asherah and I have become good friends!"
A look of blatant shock fell over Tom's face.
"...Oh yes." Merope smiled, "I'm a Parselmouth like you."
Tom narrowed his eyes before he sputtered angrily, "Then…..Then why didn't you ever teach me?! I had to learn it on my own!"
"I didn't need to teach you." She grinned, "You were born knowing the language, Tom. As soon as you could talk to me, you began babbling to the snakes in the garden too…...exactly as I suspected you would."
Tom felt a surge of unexpected nausea overtake him as he spread his fingers on the dining table and nodded, "Clearly, Mother, there must be something you can tell me about my father, anything….please, I'm asking you to stop hiding my heritage! If you truly care for me, then tell me of my sire!...And tell me more about your family!"
"Of your sire?...And my family?" Merope chuckled, "Very well, Tom….A long time ago, when I was a young woman, trapped in a filthy, abusive household, I fell in love with a man who could never love me back. I wasn't a very good person then….and I did a very bad thing. You resulted from my misdeed, but when I looked into your eyes for the first time, I decided to change for the better. I honestly feel as though I have……yet my work continues every day."
"Who is my father?" Tom asked as Merope reached out and grasped one of his hands in hers.
"If you truly care for me, Tom," Merope sniffed, "Then you'll stop asking me that. I must decline to answer so that I may protect you."
"I don't need your protection!" He spat angrily as he jerked his hand free of Merope's and stood from his chair.
Merope frowned as he stomped towards the door and revealed, "I have a meeting with my uncle soon, perhaps he'll be less concerned about my…..protection, Mother!"
"...Your uncle?!" Merope exclaimed with an incredulous frown.
Tom put his hand on the knob and swung the door open.
"...Morfin?!" Merope called as she rose from the table and chased after her son, "You're going to meet with Morfin?!"
Tom said nothing else as he stepped out into the night and slammed the door behind himself.
Merope raced over to the door, threw it open again, and dashed into the concrete hallway as she called desperately, "Tom?!...TOM?!"
After an hour of fruitless searching for her son, Merope returned to her apartment, locked the door behind herself, and sank to the floor on her knees.
As she started to weep bitterly, Asherah slithered down the hallway and coiled beside her.
"I've made a terrible mistake!" Merope hissed in Parseltongue, "No, I've made many mistakes! Many! One right after another!"
Asherah's tongue flickered as she replied in a low hiss, "Younglings must leave the nest to make their own choices and find their own paths, it is no fault of your own……"
Which path Tom would choose was exactly what Merope feared.
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Evening approached as Tom made his way through the shabby village of Little Hangleton for his meeting with Morfin Gaunt.
He ignored the irritated, distrustful looks he received from the pub's staff and customers as he stepped inside the establishment and sat down at a vacant table.
An hour passed, then another.
Tom began to worry that he had chosen the wrong place.
His uncle's letter had requested they meet at the best pub in town, though upon his arrival, Tom had promptly discovered that there was only a single pub in Little Hangleton.
After another hour went by, distrust bloomed in Tom Riddle's mind.
Patrons came, patrons left.
The village of Little Hangleton was small and its people were simple.
The men wore such tattered clothes that Tom could scarcely tell one individual from another, although he blatantly stood out, handsome and well-dressed compared to the others even in his school uniform.
Once the hands on the large clock by the wall struck eleven, Tom stood from the dilapidated table with a frustrated sigh.
He made his way towards the tavern's door with rage prickling up his spine.
Tom silently vowed to hunt down his uncle and demand why he had refused to attend their meeting when the door suddenly swung open as a man walked into the pub.
Tom practically collided with the stranger before they paused to look at each other.
The man's clothes were as tattered as the other's, but underneath the thick layer of grime that covered his face, Tom could recognize his mother's dark hair and eyes.
The man blinked for a moment before he snorted and spoke, "Well…..I suppose ya are his son, then, aren't ya, boy? Ya look just like 'im."
"Are you Morfin Gaunt?" Tom asked quickly.
"That's what I've been told every day in this wretched world." Morfin snorted again.
Tom's eyes widened with eagerness as he gestured towards the closest table and nodded, "Thank you for coming, Uncle! Won't you sit down?"
"If you buy me a pint." Morfin shrugged.
Tom excused Morton's tardiness as he pulled a bit of muggle money from his pocket and paid the server after he and Morfin took their seats at the table.
"...But don't ya call me 'Uncle', boy." Morfin snorted, "I want nothing to do with ya or ya whore of a mother."
A dangerous smile curled Tom's lips.
The only thing that saved Morfin's life in that moment was his nephew's desire to extract what information from him he could.
"I must humbly ask you to speak more respectfully, sir." Tom said as he kept his disturbing smile, "My mother is an honest woman……She's worked very hard to give me a decent life."
"That's because she feels so guilty about ruinin' her own with that muggle filth!" Morfin growled as he spat a wet ball of fluid onto the dirty tavern floor.
Tom resisted the urge to wrinkle his nose in disgust as he answered, "Sir, I've come to seek your help……I need to learn my father's name. I only managed to find you in a record book! I have no other information, no dates, no-"
"-She hasn't told ya anythin', then?" Morfin asked with a grin.
"About my father?" Tom asked.
"No, 'bout ya horse, boy. Of course, ya father, ya blithering fool!" Morfin spat as the server brought his pint of ale.
"Give me the name of my father and I'll buy you another pint." Tom bargained.
"I'll give ya more than that! I'll tell ya 'bout the evil idiocy of my sister! Salazar Slytherin would roll in his grave if he knew her foolishness." Morfin scoffed.
Tom waited patiently while Morfin raised the pint to his cracked lips and took a long, slow sip.
"Ya mother……" He began, "Decided she fancied a muggle one day…and not just any muggle, mind ya, but the richest one, the one the women fell over themselves for….Tom Riddle…..That muggle."
"I'm…I'm named after my father?" Tom blinked in disbelief as he furrowed his brow.
Morfin ignored him as he snorted and went on, "He was never goin' to notice she was alive of course, not with how ugly my sister is, so she decided she'd brew Amortentia and drag him alongside her like a dog on a leash."
Tom listened closely.
Morfin shrugged, "Either she lost the guts to keep up her charade, or she ran out of supplies, but that muggle found out about her trickery somehow…..and left her on the street."
Tom fell silent as he thought for a moment.
"So then……you knew that she had been abandoned?" He asked.
Morfin shrugged again.
"...And that your sister was with child?" Tom asked as he narrowed his eyes, "Yet you….did nothing to help her? Did you not offer for her to come and live with you?"
"Our father is still among the livin', boy." Morfin snarled as he slammed his pint down on the table. Ale doused the wood as he scowled at Tom, "I fully supported his opinion….There is no room for lyin' whores among Slytherin's heirs."
Tom's hand moved towards his wand.
He had heard enough.
His anger was so great he no longer cared about expulsion or any other consequences.
At that moment, a lifetime in Azkaban seemed worth it to Tom in exchange for the sight of his uncle lying dead on the floor.
Tom's fingers had barely graced the outline of his wand before he felt his oxygen supply vanish.
He immediately tried to draw a breath.
Tom's dark eyes widened in horror as he realized that he could no longer breathe for some incomprehensible reason.
Slowly, he lifted his gaze to meet Morfin's.
His uncle's expression was truly malicious as he sneered, "Amazing, it'nt it? That someone like me, who can't read a word, can best a fancy schoolboy like you……..The Dark Arts run in our blood, boy, I don't need no pompous school teachin' me what I was born to do! I answered your question, you bought me a pint…..we're square. Don't contact me again…..don't come back to this village……I've nothin' else to say to you…..It's an embarrassment that you and my sister walk this earth."
Morfin leaned down as he whispered in Tom's face, "You are nothin'...but a livin' piece….of shame and regret."
The veins in Tom's head bulged.
His complexion had gone from pale to red and was on its way to a disturbing blue hue by the time Morfin stomped away from the table and stormed out of the pub.
As soon as Morfin left, the nonverbal curse he had cast ended.
Tom placed a hand over his throat as he raggedly gasped for air.
While he fought off the dizziness brought on by his torment, his uncle's words echoed in his mind.
Once he recovered enough to stand, Tom took his own leave of the pub and headed back to Hogwarts.
His discussions with his mother and uncle had left him feeling battered, confused, and disgustingly vulnerable.
Tom Riddle wanted to become Minister for Magic.
Tom Riddle wanted to become a great wizard.
That night though, more than anything else in the world, Tom Riddle wanted to hold Harriet Potter in his arms and smell her soothing scent.