The Enemy of my Enemy

The Memory, Part II

"How do you know she was in London, sir?" Harry asked.

"Because of the evidence of one Caractacus Burke," said Dumbledore.

Teddie raised an eye. "Burke?" she echoed. "As in Borgin and Burkes? The place you saw the necklace four years ago?" she turned to Harry.

Harry shrugged.

"The very same," said Dumbledore, patiently. "Caratacus Burke founded the shop with Mr. Borgin, and house a variety of different dark objects, including the necklace."

Dumbledore poured the fresh memories into the Pensieve and began swirling the stone basin once more between his long-fingered hands.

Up out of the swirling, silvery mass rose a little old man revolving slowly in a circle, silver as a ghost but much more solid, with a thatch of hair that completely covered his eyes.

"Yes, we acquired it in curious circumstances. It was brought in by a young witch just before Christmas, oh, many years ago now. She said she needed the gold badly, well, that much was obvious. Covered in rags and far along. . . going to have a baby, see. She said the locket had been Slytherin's. Well, we hear that sort of story all the time, 'Oh, this was Merlin's, this was, his favourite teapot,' but when I looked at it, it had his mark all right, and a few simple spells were enough to tell me the truth. Of course, that made it near enough priceless. She didn't seem to have any idea how much it was worth. Happy to get ten Galleons for it. Best bargain we ever made!"

Dumbledore gave the Pensieve an extra-vigorous shake and Caractacus Burke descended back into the swirling mass of memory from whence he had come.

"He only gave her ten Galleons?" said Harry indignantly.

"Caractacus Burke was not famed for his generosity," said Dumbledore. "So we know that, near the end of her pregnancy, Merope was alone in London and in desperate need of gold, desperate enough to sell her one and only valuable possession, the locket that was one of Marvolo's treasured family heirlooms. "

"But she could do magic!" said Harry impatiently. "She could have got food and everything for herself by magic, couldn't she?"

"She probably gave up hope after Riddle left her," said Teddie. "She had used magic on her husband for years, forcing him into a relationship, and then stopping it. Like I said last time, she may have thought she wouldn't need the magic anymore, then the magic of love and her pregnancy would be enough to keep him, and when it wasn't, it broke her. Why believe in actual magic if the magic of love fails?"

Dumbledore smiled. "Solid logic, Miss Green," he approved. "It is possible that her unrequited love and the attendant despair sapped her of her powers; that can happen. In any case, as we are about to see, Merope refused to raise her wand even to save her own life."

"She wouldn't even stay alive for her own son?" Teddie asked. "That's cold. No wonder Voldemort turned out the way he did. Not only didn't his father want him, neither did his mother."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "Could you possibly be feeling sorry for Lord Voldemort?" he asked.

Teddie opened her mouth, paused, and then closed it again. "I guess I am," she admitted. "I mean, we've always seen him as this evil being that only wants power. But maybe, just maybe, if he had been shown love from a tender age, or had parents that wanted him, he could've turned out differently."

"Like you?" Harry asked. "I, for one, don't feel sorry for him," he added. "His past doesn't excuse his actions."

"I didn't mean -" started Teddie.

"Merope had a choice to choose life and her child, and she chose to give up," Harry interrupted. "Unlike my mother -"

"Your mother had a choice," said Dumbledore gently. "Yes, Merope Riddle chose death despite a son who needed her, but do not judge her too harshly, Harry. She was greatly weakened by long suffering, and she never had your mother's courage. And now if you will stand..."