Her Dying Breath

The sky was blue once more and the echoing of bird song filled the now semi occupied cottage that belonged to Marvolo Gaunt and his two children, Merope and Morfin.

Merope Gaunt was now the sole occupier of the ruined shack since her Brother and Father were in Azkaban, and wished more than anything that she could leave and never come back. She wished that someday the most handsome man in the village would love her the way she loved him, Tom Riddle would never ever look at her the way she wanted him to.

As the days turned into months Merope became more and more enamoured with Tom and began to formulate a plan to ensnare him, being related to Salazar Slytherin had helped her no end, she had inherited his shrewd attitude and now blossoming mind. Being free of her Father was helping her magic along greatly.

Brewing the Amortentia was difficult but she was not an ancestor of the most brilliant potions master who ever lived for nothing. Some of the ingredients were tricky to procure but she had managed it. All she needed now was a chance meeting with Tom Riddle and he would be hers.

~*~

Tom Riddle was sweating elegantly as he rode his horse along the deserted streets of Little Hangleton; he stopped for a minute, dismounted his horse and wiped his brow with his cotton handkerchief. He heard a slight rustling from behind the bushes that hid the old Gaunt Shack from view, and peered round the corner to see a young woman with pale blonde hair. Around her neck hung a large gold locket with an emerald encrusted ‘S’.

Tom blinked twice as he watched her approach, a black flask clutched in her little hands. Who was this woman? He had seen her face once but could not for the life of him place her. He looked at her with wary eyes and was met with a smile as she came to a stop in front of him.

“You seem a little dehydrated sir, can I be of any help to you?” she asked.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“Merope, Sir.” she replied.

“What have you got in your flask?” he asked.

“Just water, sir.” she replied.

Merope’s heart beat like a drum in her chest and she hoped he would take the heavily dosed water; she has bewitched it to taste just like water.

“Give it here.” he said, and held out a hand for the flask.

Merope nearly cried for joy when he took the flask from her hand, he sniffed it apprehensively before drinking eagerly from it.

It seemed to happen all at once. Tom dropped the flask from his hand and stared doe eyed at Merope, who in turn felt the familiar pangs of longing in her heart; he smiled widely at her and closed the distance between them. He gripped her tightly in his arms and pulled her to him, lightly brushing the lock of golden hair that had fallen on to her face.

“You are beautiful Merope.” he said before kissing her softly.

Merope felt the tears stream down her face as he kissed her, and he pulled away with concerned eyes.

What is wrong, Darling?” he asked.

“I need to run away, Tom, I can’t live in this village any longer!” she cried.

He hugged her tightly.

“I will go with you my love, I would follow you to the ends of the earth.” he said.

Merope could only nod as he helped her onto his horse and they rode away in the sunset


~*~

It had been two months since the wedding of Merope Gaunt and Tom Riddle, and with each day that passed Merope longed to stop dosing him with the potion, but she could not bear to be without him. She loved him with all her heart and the child that grew in her womb proved it, Tom loved this child with all his drugged heart and promised it the world as it grew in his wife’s stomach.

Merope sighed, and resigned herself to the fact that today was definitely the day she would stop dosing Tom with the potion, there had to be some part of him that truly loved her. She quickly poured the antidote into his cup, set out his morning coffee and his breakfast, along with his paper, and waited for him to come to the table.

Tom smiled brightly at his wife as he sat down at the dining table, his gold wedding ring shining brightly in the morning sun. Merope’s stomach dropped as he brought the cup to his lips and took a sip. His brow furrowed slightly and his eyes widened, and his cup dropped to the floor and smashed to pieces.

“You!” he roared, “What have you done to me?”

“Please Tom!” she cried

“Witch! Filthy witch!” he shouted as he jumped up and stormed toward the door.

“Please don’t go,” she pleaded, “The baby needs you!” she cried.

“You and that thing better stay away from me!” he shouted as he tried to shake her off.

She flew to the floor from the sheer force of his strength, and knocked herself unconscious as her head hit the stone floor of the hallway. Tom never spared his wife a second glance as he stormed from the cottage.

~*~

On a snowy night in December, Merope Gaunt gave birth to Tom Marvolo Riddle Jr.


As the nurse placed her newborn son in her arms, she was filled with an overwhelming sense of love. Her son had the same story green eyes as his Father and the same dark brown hair; he looked exactly like her husband. They had done a good job with this little boy. He was going to be loved and adored by her. Maybe one day he would meet his Father and he too would love him as she already did.

Little Tom reached out and grasped his Mothers fingers and squeezed them tightly, and Merope smiled happily at her son, trying as hard as she could to ignore the pain in her stomach and the flow of blood that was slowly trickling down her leg.

Merope cried out as the pain became worse, and the nurses flocked round her, the matron reached out and took baby Tom from Merope’s arms and tried to soothe him as he cried, obviously sensing his mothers discomfort.

“Please, help me.” cried Merope as the doctor arrived to help her, her heart longed to hold her new born son as he cried, but the matron held him tightly to her chest as she rocked him, but this did not sooth his cries.

Merope became increasingly light headed as the doctor worked to stop her blood loss; the sound of Tom’s cries filled her ears and kept her from slipping away. She wanted her son, she needed to hold him.

As soon as the nurse placed Tom in her arms, she smiled lazily.

“He looks like his papa, I love you Tom.” she said softly and kissed his soft little head.

As Merope Riddle took her last breath, Tom Marvolo Riddle let out a wail for the loss of his mother.

~*~

Lord Voldemort woke with a start, and ran his fingers through his newly regenerated dark hair. Where had those memories come from? How had he been able to watch his Mother’s memories? His heart panged with an unfamiliar feeling. He felt a dull ache in his chest as he watched his wife tending to their newborn son.

Hermione Granger at first had been his prize for winning the war and killing the Boy-Who-Finally-Died. He had been roaming through the dungeons on a quiet night at the former Riddle mansion when he heard a voice quietly singing to herself.

He walked close to the cramped, dirty cell and saw his spoils sitting on the floor, with a book in her hand, one that he had given to her months ago. He opened her cell door with his wand, sat down on the bench, and just watched her. She looked upon him with interest as she pretended to read.

He moved her the following night to a private bedroom and began training her on the darkest of arts. She was his pet, his toy. He had taken her to his bed on her 21st birthday, she had been an eager lover and he had taught her all he knew, he loved how she had turned into something to fear.

He watched as she tore through Antonin Dolohov, revenge for the curse he placed upon her in her fifth year. Watched as tears streamed down her face as she took his life and then cradled his broken body in realisation of what she had done.

He knew she was in love with him, from the moment she ran to him and proclaimed she was pregnant with his heir. He was elated and proud of his woman, and 3 months later, she became his wife.

Seeing life through his mothers eyes changed the way he now looked at his wife and son, the love he saw in Hermione’s eyes was exact the same as his mothers. He knew that he had been loved. Something he had always despised the thought of. He never realised how much he had craved its existence in his life until now.

His fingers drifted toward his temple, to the spot where his mother had kissed in her dying moments. His skin burned as if he could still feel her lips upon his fore head, and his heart gave another pang.

Was it loss? Was he grieving for his mother? Had it finally hit him, all the feelings he had been dismissing all these years?

He knew for certain that what he was feeling felt right, it filled his heart and he welcomed it.

It was love.