𝕬 𝕯𝖆𝖗𝖐 𝕷𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖎𝖘 𝕭𝖔𝖗𝖓 | 𝑇𝑜𝑚 𝑅𝑖𝑑𝑑𝑙𝑒 |

Chapter 40- Getting Away with Murder

"Who's there?"

Tom casually walked into the sitting room, with a sly sort of grin, as if breaking and entering was something he did all the time. Even if Tom Sr. had finished his sentence, you could have gotten the answer just by looking at the younger Riddle. His father really was just like an older version of Tom. He had the same neat dark hair and identical facial features. Tom held his uncle's wand loosely to his side, while he stared blankly at the Riddles. There were three of them in total. Two older people, most likely Tom's grandparents, were sitting nonchalantly in their armchairs besides his father. The old man looked bewildered, while the old woman just stared with the same excited spark she'd had before. Tom thought very briefly that he might have a change of heart upon seeing all of them there together. It didn't have to be this way. Unfortunately, this peaceful little evening scene only made him grow angrier.

"Hello, father."

"I don't have a—" Tom Sr. started, but then was hit with a sudden realization. There was a possibility of him having a son. A long time ago, around sixteen years or so, he was under the spell of a young girl. Quite literally. He had made some terrible mistakes with her and had completely forgotten a child was even one of them. He was under the cruel impression she wouldn't go through with it, but here was this boy who'd just broken into his sitting room. He resembled him in every way. Except his eyes. The boy had her eyes.

"Merope..."

For a moment, you would think he had at least cared somewhat about her by the way he said her name. But, it was only for a brief passing moment. Tom knew that the man that stood before him had never really loved his mother.

"Your—what—?" Tom's grandfather, Thomas Riddle, shouted, rising from his chair as well. "Don't tell me you and that girl had a son!?"

"Well..."

"You didn't even tell your own parents!?" Tom yelled, outraged. He thought he would've at least told them the reason he ran. A clearly misguided thought. "Are you really that ashamed by me?"

"I'm not ash—"

"Liar!" Tom hissed, in Parseltongue. The two male Riddles jumped back in shock at the venomous hiss. However, Tom's grandmother, Mary Riddle, seemed to be the only one not affected by any of Tom's statements.

"I knew it!" Mary Riddle shouted, suddenly. They all turned their attention, eager to hear what the old woman had come up with, "I knew you looked like my Tom."

"It's lovely to see you again, grandmother." Tom smiled, politely.

"Such a kind young man. I would've saved you a piece of apple crumble, if I knew you'd be stopping by. What are you doing here, dear?" she asked. The other two stared at her oddly. It was rather obvious that the old woman was growing dimmer and more senile with age. The boy wasn't a guest. He was a clear threat to their tranquility and was determined to make them repent for their old crimes.

"I'm here to take revenge on the behalf of my mother." Tom stated, as if it was obvious.

"I didn't expect death to look so much like my son."

"Well, you probably should've."

"Where's Merope? I want to talk to her!—Does your mother even know that you're out at this hour? Take me to her." Tom Sr. shouted, finally showing some sort of spine. Tom grimaced, gripping the wand he was hiding behind his back tighter and tighter.

"Dead. She died giving birth to me," Tom replied. They sat there in silence for a moment, probably out of guilt rather than respect for the deceased. They had all probably done something to drive that poor woman towards death. "Of course, she might've been able to survive, if someone hadn't walked out on her. However, I'm afraid she no longer had the will to live and literally birthed me in the city orphanage, intent on leaving me behind. I wonder who could've caused her to do something like that. Who could've been so heartless..."