Oh well,of course I wasn't able to fit five memories into five chapters, it's six now x) But given the crazy length of this story, I guess I'm shameless by this point anyway – so here's part II of memory V.

All credits regarding the prophecy theory go to a fantastic The Leaky Cauldron article,'Riddle of the Orphanage'.

She's alive, thanks to Faye and Vivian, both only too willing to share what little they have.

They're in and out of Jim's, but they still care more about Merope than anyone else ever has, and ever will. They constantly talk to me, in her growing belly, they laugh and look after each other.

Maybe it wasn't just magic that guided me to Vivian and Jim and Faye as a child. Maybe it just felt like some sort of home because it was just that for my mother, for a short time at least …

Merope's life suddenly seems to offer relief. Chastened and humbled by her very own actions and all their consequences, grounded by the heaven's rain and cared for by angels.

It almost seems too good to be true. Too magical, the way the three women would chatter about their dreams and fears in the middle of the night, how they're sticking up for each other and talk about what I might become one day.

"Maybe an engineer," Vivian speculates.

"Or an author." Faye giggles. "A real dandy?"

"Oh, I know – a philanthropist!" Vivian says. "Someone who reads stories about mythology and Faye's hero Anne Shirley to the kids in Wool's around the corner!"

"What is Wool's?" Merope asks.

"An orphanage." Faye shrugs. "It's all a bit old, but those aunties there keep everything neatly clean with bleach, and they look after the children. As best they can."

"Or maybe he'll be an adventurer." Vivian continues to think aloud. "Someone who travels to the Amazonas, exploring countries far away."

"Whatever he becomes, he will be that only thanks to you," Merope claims reverently. "I'd probably be lying in the streets somewhere hadn't I met Faye … I'll never be able to thank you for that …"

"Oh, never mind," Vivian giggles as she washes the night's rouge from her cheeks in front of a dull mirror. "Just make sure your son becomes a celebrated author. I've always wanted to know someone like that." She winks at the two in the room just when there's a hurried knock on the door out of nowhere.

"Ladies?" They hear Jim ask. "Vivian? Do you have a moment?"

It's all too good indeed. Too perfect. Too magical. And Merope notices it just as much.

"Excuse me," Vivian sighs, getting up wearily. "Jimmy, what is it? Can't a girl have peace and quiet this late?"

He only slightly opens the door, obviously worried.

"It's fine," Vivian hurries to say, following him into the stairwell to a small window in a corner.

"I'll freshen up in the meantime," my mother says, leaving the nodding Faye behind as well, just to secretly listen to Vivian and Jim.

She couldn't see Jim's concern like I do now, but it's not a coincidence – Merope was right to be skeptical.

"No," we hear Jim in a hushed voice as we get as close to the two as possible. "A woman called Vinda, she says, a … oh, what was he called again … Some German name, something with G … He sent her. It's apparently about a ministry prophecy –"

"But Gellert is in the States!" Vivian whispers and still sounds excited – in a bad way.

"Gellert! Thank you, that's the one. That was the first name, the last name was –"

"No!" she hisses. "Don't say it. A taboo …"

"Really?" he asks, slightly astonished. "Who is that even?"

"Damn it, Jim, I know you can't do magic, but to be so uninterested in the other world that you don't even know who that is, that's almost ignorant –"

"No wait, I know," Jim growls, it seems to dawn on him, "you're talking about that madman who wants to establish the Greater Good!"

"Exactly."

"Oh." A brief silence arises. "You're too worried, dear, calm down – whatever happens, you don't have to be afraid."

"That's easier said than done," she claims, a barely noticeable tremor overshadowing her voice. As a visitor to this memory, I can get closer to the two than my mother did. Vivian inches even nearer to the window and Jim, biting her lip. "That's not good, Jim. Not good at all …"

"So you already know what this Vinda wants in his name?" he asks, gently but skeptically.

"I do," she replies. Fear written all over her face. "But I thought that's why he travelled to New York! I believed that would be the end of it, Jim, I just wanted a normal life back, with a normal –"

"I know, dear, but we don't have time for that now. What exactly does he want?"

"A child. A prodigy. He wants to recruit it because of that prophecy that was mentioned in the Daily Prophet the other day – you know, which said that a boy either helps him win – or prevents him from winning. Whatever the Dark Lord is planning, no innocent child is safe with him!"

"Viv, what the blazes have you gotten us into with your contacts?"

"I'm sorry, Jim, I didn't know –"

"And what do they want from us?"

"The Daily Prophet had recently mentioned that explosion in New York," she whispers. "What if Gellert has discovered that he got the wrong child overseas? Or can't say for sure and is still looking for others? Vinda may just be the start. This place will soon be crowded by acolytes."

"What? No, why? Tell me – what could they want from us of all people? We don't even have a child with us!"

"Not yet," Vivian sniffs, "but I think Merope's a witch. I'm pretty sure because she was humming a song that only a witch would sing. And she said that her father and brother were in a prison that we wouldn't know. She must have meant Azkaban ... And if you have contacts in or with Azkaban, who knows what was said there. How many informants Gellert has there ..."

"Damn it, Vivian ..."

"I slipped into this, Jim. And I'm sure I'm just paranoid, but what if he ends up imagining that it truly is Merope's child the prophecy speaks of?"

"No, that's rubbish! We don't even know much about her, how could anyone overseas have heard information that –"

"I don't know, Jim, but what if it happened somehow? I have to get her out of here. Think of an excuse for Faye, she wouldn't be able to bear hearing about yet another war ..."

"Vivian, wait a damn minute!"

She's already rushing past me like in a frenzy, but I realize along with her that my mother no longer intends to be found.

"Faye? Faye, where's Merope?"

"Err … She wanted to freshen up. Viv, you know what? Her son may not have a father – but he'll have three mothers. We'll make up for it, right?"

Vivian can't hold back tears any longer, Faye has no clue what's going on.

And the memory turns black, only to draw us to another place, probably a few weeks later.

It's Knockturn Alley, I'm quite sure after looking around a bit.

She's heavily pregnant and yet so thin that it hurts to look at her. Her clothes are far too cold and partly torn – only heaven knows what misery she's endured in the meantime.
For me. She certainly would've given up on herself long ago.

In the backyard of a pub, she drags herself to a wall that must at least radiate a bit of warmth of the rooms behind it.

It's surely the end of December. Shortly before I was born. Muddy snow in the streets, snowflakes whirling in the sky. Otherwise there's only laughter echoing out of dark taverns like from another world.

She can hardly hold herself up on her feet. She's freezing and even grateful for the rotten wooden boxes that someone carelessly left there – because at least she can sit on them now, to catch her breath for a moment.

Burying her face in her hands, she murmurs, "Oh, Tom ... We're done soon ... We'll get it over with somehow ..."

"You don't know Odgen? For real? A ministry employee, for years! And he apparently last saw the whole Gaunt family."

We literally both jump back and freeze as we stare at the tilted window on the opposite wall. We don't see anyone, nobody sees us – but we hear everything.

"The Gaunts? They say they're the last descendants of Slytherin, aye?"

The toilet of another pub – we are obviously listening to a conversation between two men that's not actually meant for our ears.

"Used to be a powerful family, yeah. Marvolo must've been the last heir. Horrible figure. Went to Hogwarts with him, but he didn't even graduate …"

"So there's probably very little left of the family's former glory."

"Indeed, bet on it," the other one confirms. "An outright shame, according to Odgen. Old Gaunt is said to have gone completely insane. Rumor has it that he was so angry with his wife because their son was born so ill and ugly due to all that blood madness that he couldn't bear it any longer and killed her for it. It was never proven, but I could well imagine him doing it. He's always had violent tendencies, even back in school."

Merope has to hold her tears back at these words, she cannot cry out loud. But I guess she'd always known who ended her beloved mother's life anyway …

"And the boy was causing trouble all the time. Just as out of control as his father … Odgen was said to be there because of the lad. A village jealousy drama, can you imagine?"

"Tell me!"

"Marvolo also has a daughter. According to Odgen, she looks like that gloomy life of hers, but she's made a somewhat clever impression. Of course, she wasn't allowed to go to school, that poor thing … Anyway, apparently she fell in love with some handsome, rich Muggle from the village, but of course, she was to turn her attention to her dear brother – for the sake of blood purity."

"Good heavens, sure. The girl was living in hell, huh?"

"Aye. Her brother even attacked that Muggle."

"Ah, so the Ministry intervened for that?"

"Exactly. But now, listen up! After Marvolo and his son didn't cooperate and even threatened Odgen, they were taken to Azkaban for good. And guess who disappeared without a trace afterward! The daughter!"

"Oh, come on …"

"Yes! And with her, the pretty boy from the village!"

"No!"

"Oh yes! Vanished. From the face of the earth, both of them."

"You don't think –"

"I bet! They ran away! Absolutely!"

"Young love," the other man chuckles. "Such an ancient pureblood with an ordinary Muggle? Well, if that isn't a twist of fate. Let them be happy, I say …"

"Ah, if it only was that easy. I believe in the connection to the Dark Lord."

"You do? Come, come, that's just gossip … What would that have to do with the Dark Lord and his search campaign?"

"Think about it! What do young lovers do?"

"Well, don't know –"

"They have fun! The timing aligns. What if Marvolo's daughter is with child? To the shame of her family, not with a pureblood, but a healthy offspring thanks to fresh blood. An heir to Slytherin – one old Salazar might even have approved of in the end!"

"That would be a sensation, I'll give you that!"

"Yeah, a sacred twenty-eight house long thought dead, and Parselmouths at that … Someone like the Dark Lord would be interested in that, don't you think? Magical nobility, like a phoenix rising from the ashes …"

"Sounds exciting, but … Nah. That's too absurd. How could the Dark Lord have even heard about what happened here in England in a small village?"

"Azkaban's walls have ears, my friend. If Marvolo continued to boast about his origins and Slytherin's heritage like he did back in his days at Hogwarts, even the last inmate has heard about it. And they don't need the Daily Prophet in Azkaban to know about ministry scandals, like Odgen's. He was in St. Mungo's for weeks after the attack ... Well … So whoever is an informant for the Dark Lord in Azkaban likely put the pieces of Slytherin's shabby inheritance and those two runaway-lovebirds together."

"Far-fetched," the other thinks aloud, "but for the Dark Lord, it might still be interesting to at least look at the child."

"My thoughts exactly. The head money would definitely be worth it. He's looking everywhere. We should keep our eyes and ears open, I'm curious what else people whisper about this case. Sooner or later, the Dark Lord will find the child anyway, so why not get a piece of the pie, too?"

"You're scum. Always money on your mind ..."

"Just like you," the other starts to laugh. "I feel sorry for the girl and her child, but if we don't find her, someone else will. Doesn't matter. And bills have to be paid. Especially around Christmas …"

"True. We all gotta eat …"

"Aye. We'll work together then."

We hear them washing their hands, after that, silence becomes loud.
Merope is as white as a sheet.

"I was cursed with those two insane men …" she all but whispers to herself, staring at the wall opposite. "Oh, Tom … They surely told everyone in Azkaban that we're Slytherin's heirs. They've been boasting about it for as long as I can remember ... And now someone who shouldn't know that has heard it, and Vivian was right. They've sent people everywhere, and they want to hurt you." She shakes her head, looking quite insane herself by now. "But I won't let that happen. No one will tell you what to do, you won't live like me. You're stronger. And I will be as strong for you as I can be ... Like my mother tried her best for me. Morfin never got to touch me, it worked ... The sacrificial protection she paid for with her life worked ... No, Tom, the Dark Lord will find you over my dead body … If it's your destiny, you will find him one day, to teach him that, despite all the madness of our ancestors, we must not be underestimated."

I see a last glimpse of pride flicker in her eyes while she raises her hand to her last possession still of value. As she touches Salazar Slytherin's locket, she's clearly making a decision.

After she manages to get up, she doesn't even have to make it far – Borgin & Burke's is where she wants to go.

"Merry Christmas, young lady, you … you look a bit tired." Until now, I'd only ever seen Burke smile with somewhat malicious intent. But his typical crooked grin quickly fades at the sight of the half-dead woman entering his shop with the last of her strength. "Would you like ... a glass of water? A blanket, maybe?"

"I need your help."

He's hesitant, but willing to read her big, green eyes. Behind the tears, there's unshakable determination. Almost frightening ...

"Missy, I just offered you my help. In the form of water and a blanket, but anything beyond that –"

"I can pay." Her voice is shaky, nevertheless she's using it. "How much does anonymous accommodation cost per night? Here, in the area?"

"One or two galleons, depending on where you –"

"Ten," she says, still trying to catch her breath. "Ten galleons are enough for me. The contractions will soon intensify, it won't be long now ..." She pulls her coat even tighter around herself, and ironically, by that she can no longer hide her belly from him. "Ten galleons and your help."

Burke takes a deep breath and seems to be thinking he's missed something. Still his curiosity prevails. "My help and ten galleons for what?"

With a heavy heart, she grabs the medallion from under her dress and slips the chain off over her head. Once she put it on the counter, she's pushing it towards a very astonished Burke.

She gulps when he begins to closely examine it.

"It is real," she assures him. "And worth much more. You know that as well as I do."

"You are the girl the Dark Lord is looking for," Burke whispers in horror. "The daughter of Marvolo Gaunt. Girl, his followers are looking for you on every corner in England ..."

"I'm used to hiding in the shadows."

He looks her up and down with wide eyes. "But what am I supposed to do with your heirloom in the light? If I sell it, I'm as good as dead!"

"It doesn't lose its value, does it?" she negotiates. "Powerful people come and go. But this …" She points to the medallion. "This will always be a rarity. You'll be able to sell it in some years, right?"

"But why shouldn't I just take it and hand you over?" He's thinking out loud, I can't even blame him for that. "He'd reward me, certainly …"

"You are my only hope," she says under her breath, but she doesn't sound weak at all anymore. Much rather fierce. "I have nowhere to go. I have no one. I only need a spark of humanity in this cruel world. Just for once. The sins we commit haunt us for the rest of our lives, day and night. No matter how valuable a reward may be. Trust me. We need to be able to live with the consequences of our decisions. So could you live with handing over my unborn son and me to a madman? Would you enjoy the money from my famous ancestor's medallion?"

He seems to shake his greed off, nodding anxiously. "Alright. You can be very persuasive, so what kind of help are we talking about? And get away from the window, they mustn't see you …"

She follows him into the room behind the counter, then explains, "I need someone to deposit a memory in the darkest place of my world. And a Sacrificial Protection, tied to an orphanage in Soho. I'm too weak to cast it, but when the time comes, I need someone to do it for me."

"Where would that … dark place be?"

"In Yorkshire. Little Hangleton."

"Tiny village, heard about it years ago," he grumbles and nods. "That's manageable. But a Sacrificial Protection? Tied to an orphanage? Missy, hardly any protective spell lasts longer than a week, what good would that do?"

"I'm not talking about a common protective spell. I know the price of the magic I have in mind – my mother once paid it, too."

He reflects on it for quite some time. Then he finally groans. "You're dragging me into a tragedy, you know that? A life given voluntarily, and lovingly, so that your boy cannot be touched until he comes of age, provided he regularly returns to the place the protection is tied to?" He rubs his temples, sighing. "Don't you think he'd rather have his mother with him? And keep in mind that not even his own father would be able to find him like that …"

She bleakly smiles. "The end justifies the means. I can only hope that he will understand my decisions at some point. That's why you have to deposit a memory. He deserves to know how much I love him. But he also deserves a better life. He will only have to endure this life because of me, damned before he's even born. I may not deserve it if you help me, but he does. Please promise me to keep your silence, even in the face of death, I beg you. It's too much to ask, I know that – but I have no other choice."

He's struggling to agree, her eyes never leaving his face.
She's fighting for my life, already knowing that she will have to die for me.

"Help us. I beg of you."

He buries his face in his hands for a moment, then he finally nods.

"Fine. You better give birth to a breathing child, Missy, otherwise –"

"He'll be perfectly healthy, I just know it."

Burke eventually nods. "I'll give you an owl to send back to me once you're ready to swap places with your son. And then I'll be in Soho and weave the protection with your sacrifice as described in the ancient, forbidden books in my warehouse. I'll hide the memory where you tell me to. But once that's done, my responsibility ends. It must end, since one day I may be approached by certain ... people ... asking me about a desperate woman."

Merope quickly nods.

"So for your child's sake, I'll consume a potion and forget that this conversation ever took place. And I will believe that you left me your heirloom for only ten galleons because you were very desperate. More I cannot do for you."

"The story you suggest makes you look greedy, which you are not. You didn't steal the medallion from me ..."

"Oh, Missy – I've sold black magic artifacts and ingredients ever since I can remember." He winks, chuckling. "I have a reputation to lose. Let people talk. Demonize us. What people think is never important. Only what happens behind closed doors. And who knows? Maybe your son will see this one day and help me in return."

"Thank you," she says with trembling lips.

Burke nods, pointing to the medallion. "It's worth a lot. Beautiful piece. You can't speak Parseltongue to that snake by any chance? I've always wanted to hear it."

"You'll probably find it scary like everyone else does …"

"Fascinating," he reverently whispers, surprising her yet again.

And when her memory moves on to her trying to breathe in a little, shabby room, days must have passed. Tears run down her cheeks – and it seems to be the last evening of her life.

"We're almost there," she whispers, looking up into the darkness of London with a strange sense of peace as she holds on to her belly. "Tom, my darling, we just have to survive the cold in the streets for a few more minutes, and then we'll arrive. I hope that one day you'll see this ... And that you'll know how much I regret what I've done." She struggles for composure, also due to the contractions. "Not you, not ever you for a second – just the circumstances I'm responsible for … Forgive me if you can. And know that I didn't die because of you – only for you. Forgive me for what I've done to your father. And that he will probably hold my guilt against you, that he won't be able to find you ... But if there really is love in this world ..." She sniffles, shaking her head rather hopelessly. "See, if there's real love out there, I pray it'll find you. Despite everything. And it shall lead you to where you need to be. Just like it led me when I least deserved it. Would you perhaps ... Would you please give your daughter Faye as a middle name, if you ever have one? She was the first angel on earth that ever helped us, and we'd needed her so much ..."

She's crying with a smile at the thought of the missed farewell. But she has no idea that she came into contact with Faye many more times through me. That as a child I spent hours reading to her and Vivian ...

"Tom Marvolo Riddle, I hate to call you after my father, but I think it's the only way to reveal your origins to you without anyone noticing right away. And finding you ... They shall not find you, you shall find them. If you wish to. Whenever you wish to. And I very much hope that you'll look like your father because I really loved him ... You'll have his last name, you are no Gaunt ... No, you are a Riddle, a mystery to everyone who'll meet you. The best thing I've ever accomplished. More magical than anything I've ever experienced." She screws up her face in pain and moans, then tries to breathe shallowly, propping herself up from the bed. "You don't want to wait any longer, I see … One last time I'll use magic, Tom, and then I can't wait to hold you for the first and last moment ..." She takes heart, holds up a small vial and a twine, then she calls the owl to which she'll probably tie both, then she speaks one last time before the memory ends.

In Parseltongue she says, "Be kinder to the world than it has been to us. Hate only breads hate. Let's believe in the love that a few angels have shown us ... Only through love we can live forever."