The Fall of the Riddles
In England, the year 1942 was a terrible time for muggles and wizards alike, misery and despair rummaged through the lives of millions. War engulfed both worlds, leaving no room for rest, no moment of calm, and absolutely no possibility of escape. Thousands upon thousands dead each day and no grand power from above bringing either of us to a halt. The dark days were indeed upon all of us and the faintest glimmer of hope seemed impossibly distant.
On the bitter evening of July 30th, a lonely boy lay awake in his bed, his body restless, eyes wide open, and staring blankly at the cracked ceiling above. The mattress beneath him was thin and lumpy, worn from years of use, the scratchy threadbare blanket covering his body did little to stave off the penetrating chill.
He strained his ears, waiting anxiously for the familiar footsteps of Sister Marie, the stern-faced orphanage matron whose nightly bed checks were both irksome and mitigating. When they finally came and the bitter hag bid him a goodnight all while spilling some nonsense about not giving into the devils tempting voice, the boy rose from his bed and got dressed and disapparated from his tiny room in Wool’s Orphanage, reappearing outside a rundown old cottage on the edge of a hill. He took a breath, still not yet accustomed to the sick feeling in his stomach brought upon by apparition. Stepping inside, he took little to no time to find the room of his bummy uncle, who reeked of firewhiskey and giggle water, oh how the mighty have fallen. Morfin Gaunt, his late mother's brother, has he no shame? Salazar Slytherin surely turned over in his grave, his direct descendant, a convicted criminal lying in his own filth, living here, this small smelly house by himself, drinking away his life. He’s brought shame to his entire lineage, no matter. The boy grabbed the sleeping man’s wand from the bedside table along with a ring, a ring of gold with a black stone. The ring belonged to the man’s father, Marvolo Gaunt, being passed down from father to son for generations; it had finally reached the hands of a suitable bearer.
The boy left the cottage walking down a dark path that completely hid him, he reappeared outside shadowy gates that wrap around the home of the Riddle family. The large manor, located atop a hill overlooking Little Hangleton, was bought by a ‘Squire Riddle’ many moons ago, giving him and his descendants shelter for several generations.
Alohomora.
Methodically fiddling with the heirloom ring, the boy walked up towards the home, stopping when he reached the door and carefully pulling the gold lion head door knocker twice. An aged, but handsome man opens the door, pulling his wand and flicking his wrist in a lightning bolt motion, a flash of green light exits the boy's wand.
*Thud*
Stepping around the corpse, moving further into the home, he is met by a woman, likely once beautiful but now looked tired and decaying to the boy.
“Thomas, Dear? Wha– oh hello?”
And in a split-second, just like before.
*Thud*
The boy retracts his wand into his robes, adjusting them before stepping further into the house, past the grand foyer and into a hallway adorn with family portraits. The boy cannot help but notice the familial resemblance, like father, like son. His thoughts are broken by the blood curdling scream of a woman, and he calmly walks towards the source of the bothersome sound. In doing so, he finds himself staring at a woman, likely in her mid-to-late forties, he recognizes this woman, she was in one of the portraits hung in the hall, though in the painting she sported a white dress and soft smile, contrasting the frozen in shock look she has on now.
Carefully and silently, he grabs his wand and steps closer to the scene, in doing so he confirms his suspicions, she has found the bodies. Before the boy reveals himself, another man arrives at the scene and tries comforting the woman, his wife, before looking at the floor.
“Mum… Father..?” The man croaks out before dropping to his knees.
An amused smile spreads across the face of the boy as the scene unfolds, he takes this time to step forwards and reveal himself to the pair.
Step.
Step.
Step.
“T–om..” The woman begins to tremble, and the man looks up and tries to rise to his feet.
Crucio
The boy whispers out and the man once more drops to his knees, but this time, he writhes over in pain and screams. The woman stares at the boy, much too frightened to move beyond bringing her hand to her mouth.
Keeping his wand pointed at the squirming man, the boy approaches him, each step seemingly increasing the pain level being inflicted. He only stops when he feels a light graze on his shoulder, turning to see the woman reaching out, he swats her hand away which impedes him from continuing his use of the cruciatus curse.
The man struggles to catch his breath, wheezing and gasping for air, his body still aching from the sting. The boy steps closer to the frightened woman, tracing her jaw with his ivory colored wand.
“St–Stop! Don’t hurt her” The man pleads between struggled breaths.
“Stop?” The boy mimics. “You beg me not to hurt her, as if you have any right to ask me for favors, as if you’ve any right to speak to me at all.” The boy raises his voice.
“Who.. are you?”
“Who am I? Don’t you recognize me… Father. I’d say the resemblance is rather uncanny, even matching names…” He steps closer, leaning in, “It appears I have my mother’s eyes though, mine would never look so desperate.” The boy spits in his face. “Filthy muggle, you dirtied my blood with yours, left my mother alone pregnant with your child. She died in childbirth, you know? I had to be brought up by nuns in a sorry excuse for an orphanage because you left, perhaps I should thank you, anything would likely be better than being raised by a insolent muggle like yourself, and my mother, such a weakling, falling for a muggle and dying of something so pathetic.”
“Thomas.” The seemingly mute woman seemed to have finally found her voice. “Did you really have a son with that sla-”
*Thud*
Flash of green and another body on the floor.
“She tricked me, magic-ed me, I didn’t love her, it had nothing to do with you, I–”
“IT HAD EVERYTHING TO DO WITH ME!” A red light is emitted from the boy's wand and once again the man is writhing in pain.
“You left me… and what? For her?” The boy uses his foot to turn the woman's face towards his father. “For this?”
The boy once again points the wand at his father, bracing for the expected excruciating sting of the cruciatus curse, he closes his eyes, silently begging instead for the relief of death the killing curse provided his parents and wife, the man is confused when only feels a minor headache, his mind feeling warped, but physically unharmed. The man carefully reopens his eyes and is surprised by no longer being met by his estranged son's villainizing gaze, but instead, he’s met by the admiring look of a woman.
This was a recognizable gaze, one he tried many a time to ignore as he rode past the tiny shack down the hill and across the road from his own home. It was a sunny day and the young woman, only a few years his junior, nervously approached him.
“Excuse me? Your horse… he looks very tired, may I offer him some water before you continue on your journey.”
The man, now almost two decades younger, recognized her as the daughter of a tramp. The Gaunt family, were the black sheep of Little Hangleton, the father, Morphin, was a crazy old man who looked as inbred as the sky looked blue, he was always yelling about something or other, and his son, no better, total nutcase who should’ve been put in an asylum at birth, as rude and as antisocial as they come. The girl however, was a frail girl —much smaller than woman her age typically are— and while odd and not particularly pleasant to the eye, did seem to admire him, as much as Tom tried to ignore her loving gaze as she looked out from the garden or the window or even while hiding behind a dead shrub in her yard, she always made it quite difficult. He swore that the hives he broke out in as he rode past the shack a few nights ago were somehow caused by this odd family.
However, it was particularly warm that day and his stead was going rather slow, how could he turn down water for his horse. So rather than trying to ignore the mere existence of this house as he typically did, he got off his horse and followed the girl.
“I’m Merope” she shyly spoke while getting the bucket full, offering a toothless smile.
“Tom, it’s uhh nice to meet you, thank you for this”
After a few moments, quiet ones, beyond the sound of Tom’s horse drinking, Merope broke the silence, “Would you like something to drink as well, you look rather parched and it seems your horse needs a little time to rest.” She gestured to the now sleeping horse.
“Hmm, I suppose I don’t really have another option” he smiled and followed her into her home.
“My brother’s not home, and my father is away too.” Tom just offered a nod, still a bit confused as to why he even came in here.
“Here.” Merope emerges from the kitchen with a teacup. “Drink up”. The drink smelled divine so Tom took a sip.
*warp*
“I’m sorry” there was a voice before the scene focused, a sobbing woman pleading. It was Merope, a bit older now and with child, Tom stayed silent and picked up a picture frame, it was him and Merope at their wedding, the picture moved and they kissed. Distraught, he threw the picture on the floor, the shattered glass flying everywhere and cutting Merope’s cheek.
“You’re a wicked beast.”
“Please Tom, I did it because I loved you and I know deep down you love me too… please” Merope begged.
“You disgust me, you always have. You’re unnatural, demonic.” He spits out and turns to walk away.
“What of our child?!”
“That is no child of mine.” He replies without turning and continues out the door.
*warp*
Before Tom can even process what happened he is blinded by a flash of red and is once again squirming on the floor like a squirrel.
“Please, I can fix this.. Son”
“DON’T CALL ME SON!” The boy curses. “You want to fix this? You can’t. I’m ashamed to share your name, your face, I’m ashamed to share your blood. There is nothing you can do, you will die tonight, just like your mother, and father, and your pitiful wife, but first.” The boy once again points his wand at his father, but instead of red, this time, there’s flash of blue.
Imperio
Putting his father under his control, the boy makes him write a testament to his will, acknowledging his unclaimed son from his previous marriage to the late Merope Gaunt as his heir, hereby granting his entire inheritance to Tom Marvolo Riddle.
Aetas*
Tom releases his father from his control in order to magically age the document making it look more credible, before turning to the senior and smiling.
“Say hi to Mum”
AVADA KEDEVRA.
He hurriedly rushes to place the document in his late father’s study and disapparates back to London, back to his quiet room in the orphanage.