Ouroboros of Assholery

The title for this story originated as a tongue-in-cheek comment between me and my friend while we were discussing what happened between Tom and Merope and what little was said of them in the books compared to some interesting fan theories presented about their relationship which made a lot of sense.

But the more I thought about it, the more the title appealed to me on multiple levels because of snakes, self-destruction, and the cycle of abuse and hatred. In mythology, the Ouroboros signifies a more positive or neutral meaning, but as they say, every coin has two sides.

A bit of trivia for my readers – I decided to look up how much weight a pound sterling carried back then. One pound sterling in 1925 is worth about 76 pounds today as of 2024. (97 USD, or 90 Euro)

… man, inflation really bites, doesn't it? Anyway, enjoy!

o0o0o0o

Little Hangleton, late 1925

It'd been a couple of months since Tom had gone down this road. Due to the topography in this region, the safest and most practical path happened to run by the small Gaunt property nestled against the thick woods that hugged much of Little Hangleton. The path was a perfectly pleasant one unless one of the Gaunts happened to be out and about.

The young man shuddered as he remembered the hives that had erupted on his skin during his confrontation with Morfin – not that he even went after the other man. All he had done was ride on the path as he often did.

He still didn't understand quite how the hives happened. Sure, he'd heard the old stories of witches being burned at the stake, and of spinster women who grew herbs in their gardens for medicines and poultices. Morfin hadn't touched him though, and Tom convinced himself it had to have been some sort of powder.

The Gaunts had been a thorn in the side of Little Hangleton for generations. It was said that the Gaunts had been a wealthy family once, but one would scoff at that if they ever laid eyes upon the Gaunt shack. The men of the Gaunt family were known for quarrels with their neighbors and on occasion, passersby.

Attempts were made to evict them from the land or buy them out, but the Gaunts were as stubborn as they were irascible. His parents told him that it was a surprise that old Marvolo Gaunt even found a wife, for what sane woman would share a home and bed with such a man?

The wife had perished, though her son and especially daughter were not so fortunate. Tom and the other village boys made fun of Morfin when they were children, but learned to avoid the young tramp when he showed a mean streak that went beyond ordinary boyish mischief. He didn't hear or see much of Merope until years later when he noticed her peeking at him several times as he rode along the path on his horse.

Yes, she was ugly and poor, but she was a female, and she admired him. She wasn't the first and surely not the last, and unlike the rest of her family, she'd never troubled him. So let her look, if his handsome face brought a bit of joy to her harsh existence, he'd allow it.

Now here he was, slowing down as he approached the border of the Gaunt property, ready to urge his horse to run if needed. He peered through the trees cautiously. Morfin had not been seen since that strange day with the hives. Less was seen of Marvolo than his son, but there had not been one peep of trouble for a good while now. Perhaps they'd all gotten sick and passed away. If so, he'd offer a few pounds to pay for their funeral expenses, as a show of magnanimity from Little Hangleton's most respectable family.

He was almost startled when a pale face appeared in the window. Last he'd seen her, she'd looked especially forlorn, which did her sickly, wall-eyed face no favors. He felt a brief tap of disappointment that one of the Gaunts was still alive, but he supposed it was better the girl than the others. He beckoned her out of the house.

She was still quite ugly, but she looked somewhat clean as if she'd done the best with what little she had. She did not see the sneer that was affixed to her face as she stood there at the gate, her head bowed as she shivered there in her shawl.

She said that her father and brother were gone. He politely inquired about her welfare. Mother talked about charity, but he was certain she would have never considered a Gaunt to be one of her recipients. Still, Merope had never caused any trouble – not to him or any of the other people of the village. She looked and sounded quite pitiable – and pliable.

One pound sterling – almost nothing for him – would mean so much to this waif, he thought, thinking of the silver he had in his pocket. He was bored and in need of amusement. But he wanted something different than his usual frolics. It looked like Merope Gaunt could amuse him for a good while. He casually dropped the coin in her hand, like he was a mighty king dispensing a small favor to one of his subjects.

He would not hold the actions of her father or brother against her, he told her. Cause no trouble, and there would be no trouble for her. Let there be a new era between the Gaunts and the Riddles. All he had to do was pluck a few lines and choice words from the classic books he was privileged enough to have in his family's library, and she was so easily dazzled by his charming words.

o0o0o0o

Early 1926

As part of the winter holiday celebrations, the Riddle family handed out bonuses and parcels to their servants. Bottles of whiskey, bolts of cloth, butter, sugar, a few shillings, and perhaps for a few favorite servants, a trinket, enough to add some good cheer and spring to their step. Far less than what the Riddles spent on one another for their gifts.

These small gifts were a lifeline to Merope. She had no real means to support herself. Perhaps if she entered a household as a maid or laundress, but it was not certain that the better-off folk in Little Hangleton would want to hire a girl with the history she had.

He certainly didn't want her in the Riddle house. But without her father and brother around, she seemed to be doing all right by herself. When he rode by to drop off the Christmas parcel, she looked none the worse for wear, now wrapped in a coat that belonged to her father or brother, which seemed to engulf her. He gave her the parcel and bade her a happy Christmas.

The holiday celebrations kept him busy. There were the parties and visits, so he did not think much of Merope. However, after things settled down, he paid her another visit a few days after New Year's.

With Marvolo and Morfin gone, he gave in to his curiosity and made his way past the gate, riding his horse up the path to near the door, seeing Merope come out. This time, she didn't keep her gaze averted to the ground and actually looked rosy-cheeked as she looked up at him. Or at the very least, she didn't look so sallow or well, gaunt.

I hope you made good use of the money and parcel I gave you, he said. Your kindness meant the world to me, Master Riddle. He expressed a curiosity to see the inside of the shack, remembering the jibing comments he'd made with his friends in their boyhood. Even the poorest folk who lived within the borders of Little Hangleton lived in homes that looked more sturdy than the Gaunt shack.

As he looked around, Tom Riddle thought of the stories of how the Gaunt family had once been wealthy and was morbidly curious how, if the stories were true, had the family come down to this. He'd never seen such poverty. The only saving grace was Merope's efforts to keep the place clean and tidy. Such an industrious little creature, doing her best despite the circumstances that she had been born and raised in.

And from what he had seen, she was also a creature that lived off crumbs. From what he'd witnessed of Marvolo and Morfin, it was easy to imagine they were not easy people to live with or be related to. So he felt a glimmer – only a glimmer – of sympathy for Merope Gaunt. It took so little to make her happy, and for one such as him, how easy it was.

However, he knew that if he were to continue to visit Merope, people would notice, and talk, especially once the weather got warmer and people ventured more outside of their homes. There was only so much he could do in the guise of charity or horseback riding, and he'd been getting bored of Little Hangleton. Things had gotten better since the Great War, and there were some nice places by the sea or in the mountains.

Instead of spending his money on more expensive hotels or villas like he might have done with Cecilia, he found little cottages or flats, amusing himself in the villages along the coasts of the United Kingdom. When he was younger, he'd seen boys only a few years older than him go off to fight in the war. Some of the men, including older brothers of his chums, who returned home told of adventures on the Continent, and he'd felt a tad envious.

At least he didn't have to fight or risk his life when he left home, and could simply enjoy life without the curious eyes of the villagers on him. Often, he would wander away, exploring the town or its surroundings while Merope kept house for him – at least she spared him the expense of hiring a maid.

He decided to take the game further. He paid a man to perform a quick ceremony for them, giving Merope a plain silver ring. The man wasn't actually a judge, so the marriage was not valid, but Merope was so taken in by her happiness and his charms that she had no idea she'd been given a wedding that was miserly cheap, even by the standards of the poorer folk of Little Hangleton.

But it suited Tom and his game well. She was almost like a pet, easy to take care of and amuse, and the nice thing was, he didn't even have to clean up after her.

Tom asked things of her he did not dare ask Cecilia or any other respectable woman, nor did he have to pay for such services or worry about diseases if he'd hired ladies of the night. It didn't take much to get her to agree to such things. He didn't even have to threaten her. It took a few kind words and gentle touches, and the naive girl was putty in his hands. He just had to close his eyes so he didn't see her wall-eyed face, or have her facing away from him when he used her, and at least the view from the back was better.

When it came to intellectual pursuits, Merope seemed none too bright. He bought her a couple of books to see how she might take to them. Reading was a struggle for her, but she was willing to do it if it pleased him, so there was a useful distraction for when he wasn't in the mood to use her.

One night, he recalled being curious about the Gaunt family history, so he asked her. He'd always thought she was simply a bit feeble-minded, but what spilled out of her mouth made him certain she was also mad like her father and brother were. The locket she had was the last treasure of her family, passed down from a man who had helped to found a great school of magic that was hidden in Scotland, taking in students from all over the British Isles and elsewhere.

She'd never been to the school though, as it turned out. Her father did not approve of how the school took in students who were born of non-magical folk.

Such nonsense. If these people really were wizards with all that power, what the hell were they doing living in such an impoverished state? Nay, this was madness, carried on through the generations. This feeble-minded creature eagerly devoured the crumbs that were left for her, and he seriously wondered if she could even support herself if these crumbs disappeared. He considered dropping her off in a sanitarium somewhere, perhaps in remote Scotland or somewhere overseas.

Besides, it'd been a few months and he was getting bored of her. He'd shown this poor, poorly-bred girl the most kindness she'd ever received in her life. She should be grateful for that, at least. She could find someone else to pity her or hire herself out, her housekeeping skills had proved itself. There were crumbs everywhere if the pitiful girl cared to look.

He continued his games with her, making good use of her before he found the right time to get rid of her. He thought he was careful.

Apparently not, when Merope revealed her pregnancy to him.

He thought of her madness and her health. Of the embarrassment of producing a child with this wretched creature. He did not want to think about how his parents would react. And he most certainly did not want to think – or care – about how Merope would feel.

It all came crashing upon him. The last few months, the casual flirtations, the carefully chosen sweet words and touches, the intimacy. It'd all led down to this. He'd always told himself that when he had a child, it would be one he and his parents would be proud of. A suitable girl would be found, and the Riddle house would be filled with the sound of the pitter-patter of little feet. His mother had had a very difficult childbirth with a stillbirth when he was young and was not able to have more children.

He'd been able to tolerate Merope thus far for the amusements and services she gave him. But now, seeing how far his game had gone, he could only feel anger and revulsion.

Perhaps with a clearer mind, he might have avoided his fate, but that night, he showed Merope a level of cruelty she had never seen from him before. Wretched creature, wall-eyed cretin, madwoman, the words came tumbling out of his mouth as he mocked her and tore her apart in a way that even her father or brother had not been able to accomplish.

You think any of this was real? That someone could ever actually care for the likes of you!

All he wanted to do was get out of there, away from her, and forget that any of this had ever happened. He would find a respectable girl have his family, and continue the Riddle legacy.

He could never recall too clearly what happened next. When he was at his most depressed or contemplative, he would look back upon this and wonder if what Merope said about magic was indeed real.

But something had overcome Merope. She grabbed her wand, one of her few possessions and had belonged to her mother. He'd never given much notice of it before because he never saw her use it, figuring it was nothing more than some silly sentimental knick-knack.

Her eyes fixed upon him with a focus he found disconcerting, and she pointed her wand at him, letting out a screech like a wounded animal.

That was the last clear memory he had of her. He was not to know, or care, that his words had devastated her beyond repair. Her father and brother had abused her so much that the sliver of light Tom Riddle shone into her life had almost literally revived her, and with that light gone, she had no reason to live, not even for the son she carried in her womb.

o0o0o0o

Little Hangleton, August 1943

There was no denying it. There were several pictures of Tom as a child throughout the house, and the teenage boy standing before him could very well be a doppelganger of his younger self. The confusion and shock were evident in his parent's faces as well, and they stared at the intruder.

You abandoned my mother, the boy accused. Tom tried to deny it, of course. For a few seconds, he genuinely did not know who the boy was referring to, he had buried his time with Merope into the deepest recesses of his memory. All he could do was seethe in impotent fury when he understood what Merope had done to him.

Outwardly, he looked healthy and normal, unchanged in all senses. But he lost his ability to have children, and no doctor could help him. He'd become bitter under the weight of his shame and his parents' disappointment in him, unable to cope with his role in the position he'd been in for almost two decades. Merope was long gone, and so was whatever was in her belly, he'd been certain of it.

A few months after Tom's return to Little Hangleton, Marvolo Gaunt came back to the shack for a bit of time, but without his daughter to care for him, he passed away, and the town of Little Hangleton breathed a sigh of relief. But Morfin Gaunt remained a thorn in the side of Little Hangleton for years after his release from prison. Naturally, the brother of Merope Gaunt inquired after her and got belligerent when told that Merope left the town several years ago, never to look back – which was the truth, if not the whole of it. It had taken the threat of being thrown back in jail to stop Morfin from harassing him, but Tom Riddle avoided the path that ran by the Gaunt property.

He'd been so excited when Merope said they were gone after he'd inquired about them. He didn't think to ask any more questions about them, and had never thought that 'gone' simply meant 'in prison'. Figures that even after that dumb cunt was gone, her brother was still around to cause trouble. Fuck these Gaunts, what were they good for?

She bewitched me, Tom argued. He saw more than simple rage in the boy's face. There was nothing of the Gaunts in these features, and for a moment, Tom felt regret as he recalled how he was so certain that any child Merope could bear would be defective. What would things have been like if he'd kept tabs on Merope and taken the child from her, giving him to someone else to raise to spare his parents the embarrassment of having a bastard grandchild? He certainly wouldn't have been the first person to do such a thing.

Filthy Muggles, the boy called him and his parents. He recalled hearing that word many years ago, and he saw a streak of Marvolo and Morfin's irascibility in the way the boy spoke to him. But the coldness in the boy's eyes mirrored his own, and as he and his parents were to discover in a few fatal moments, magic was indeed real.