Harry, just as troubled by what we had witnessed as me, turned to Dumbledore and questioned, "What happened to the girl in the cottage? Merope, or whatever her name was?"
"Oh, she survived," Dumbledore said calmly, sitting lightly in his chair and motioning for us to sit down, too. "Ogden Apparated back to the Ministry and returned with reinforcements within fifteen minutes. Morfin and his father attempted to fight, but both were overpowered, removed from the cottage and subsequently convicted by the Wizengamot. Morfin, who already had a record of Muggle attacks, was sentenced to three years in Azkaban. Marvolo, who had injured several Ministry employees in addition to Ogden, received six months."
"Marvelo?" Harry's voice was small, wrapping around the distantly familiar name with something shocked and on edge.
Tom Marvolo Riddle. Descendent of Slytherin. Speaker of Parselmouth. I immediately understood why Merope had set my nerves on fire. She looked like Voldemort, somewhere beyond all his monstrous features. The shape of her eyes, perhaps, or the way her cheeks caught the lighting — certainly not her nose, though. And the handsome man who'd been on that horse, was it such a coincidence that his name was Tom, when his mouth and Voldemort's curled in quite the same way?
"That's right," Dumbledore said, smiling with pleasure at Harry's uptake. "I am glad to see you're keeping up."
"That old man was —?"
"Voldemort's grandfather, yes." Dumbledore nodded gravely. "Marvolo, his son Morfin, and his daughter Merope were the last of the Gaunts, a very ancient wizarding family noted for a vein of instability and violence that flourished through the generations due to their habit of marrying their own cousins. Lack of sense coupled with a great liking for grandeur meant that the family gold was squandered several generations before Marvolo was born. He, as you saw, was left in squalor and poverty, with a very nasty temper, a fantastic amount of arrogance and pride, and a couple of family heirlooms that he treasured just as much as his son, and rather more than his daughter."
"So Merope," Harry leaned forward, eyes wide, "so Merope was... sir, does that mean she was... Voldemort's mother?"
"It does," Dumbledore said. "And it so happens that we also had a glimpse of Voldemort's father. I wonder whether you noticed?"
I thought the clue was a little too obvious, as the only other options were Merope's brother, Merope's father, and Ogden, and we already knew that two of them were sent to jail.
"The Muggle Morfin attacked? The man on the horse?"
"Very good indeed." Dumbledore seemed to find Harry's skills of deduction much more impressive than I did. "Yes, that was Tom Riddle Senior, the handsome Muggle who used to go riding past the Gaunt cottage and for whom Merope Gaunt cherished a secret, burning passion."
"And they ended up getting married?" Harry's voice was wracked with disbelief.
I was pretty certain that that did not happen, having seen enough of what Tom Senior thought of the Gaunts, but the image of a tiny, pale faced Voldemort being pulled around by his stony faced parents in a little red wagon entered my mind, anyway.
"I think you are forgetting," Dumbledore said, "that Merope was a witch. I do not believe that her magical powers appeared to their best advantage when she was being terrorized by her father. Once Marvolo and Morfin were safely in Azkaban, once she was alone and free for the first time in her life, then, I am sure, she was able to give full rein to her abilities and to plot her escape from the desperate life she had led for eighteen years.
"Can you not think of any measure Merope could have taken to make Tom Riddle forget his Muggle companion, and fall in love with her instead."
I still sympathized with Merope, greatly, but that did not mean I supported what was certainly a cruel act of hers. Her suffering did not excuse her actions.
"The Imperius Curse?" Harry suggested. "Or a love potion?"
"Very good. Personally, I am inclined to think that she used a love potion. I am sure it would have seemed more romantic to her and I do not think it would have been very difficult, some hot day, when Riddle was riding alone, to persuade him to take a drink of water. In any case, within a few months of he scene we have just witnessed, the village of Little Hangleton enjoyed a tremendous scandal. You can imagine the gossip it caused when the squire's son ran off with the tramp's daughter Merope.
"But the villager's shock was nothing to Marvolo's. He returned from Azkaban, expecting to find his daughter dutifully awaiting his return with a hot meal ready on his table. Instead, he found a clear inch of dust and her note of farewell, explaining what she had done.
"From all that I have been able to discover, he never mentioned her name or existence from that time forth. The shock of her desertion may have contributed to his early death — or perhaps he had simply never learned to feed himself. Azkaban had greatly weakened Marvolo and he did not leave to see Morfin return to the cottage."
"And Merope?" I asked, frowning. "She died, right? Voldemort was brought up in an orphanage."
"Yes, indeed," Dumbledore said. "We must do a certain amount of guessing here, although I do not think it is difficult to deduce what happened. You see, within a few months of their runaway marriage, Tom Riddle reappeared at the manor house in Little Hangleton without his wife. The rumor flew around the neighborhood that he was talking of being 'hoodwinked' and 'taken in.' What he meant, I am sure, is that he had been under an enchantment that had now lifted, though I daresay he did not use those precise words for fear of being thought insane. When they heard what he was saying, however, the villagers guessed that Merope had lied to Tom Riddle, pretending that she was going to have his baby, and that he had married her for this reason."
"But she did have his baby." I pointed out.
"Yes, but not until a year after they were married. Tom Riddle left her while she was still pregnant."
"What went wrong?" Harry asked. "Why did the love potion stop working?" I would hardly call that going wrong, as a failing love potion was the best kind of love potion.
"Again, this is guesswork," sighed Dumbledore, "but I believe that Merope, who was deeply in love with her husband, could not bear to continue enslaving him by magical means. I believe that she made the choice to stop giving him the potion. Perhaps, besotted as she was, she had convinced herself that he would by now have fallen in love with her in return. Perhaps she thought he would stay for the baby's sake. If so, she was wrong on both counts. He left her, never saw her again, and never troubled to discover what became of his son."
I had many questions but wanted no answers. I wondered what became of Tom Riddle Senior. How had he felt when the glamor had fallen away and he'd found a strange pregnant woman in its wake? Had he been eating, then suddenly choking from his shock — his terror? Had he been outside, soaking in the sun, then suddenly was standing not in the warmth of outside, but in the shadowed side of a mountain of tricks, manipulation, and taking what one has no right to take? Had he woken up in bed, staring into her face, the dark outside not nearly as dark as his heart?
Hopefully, whatever had come of him, he had been happy.
"I think that will do for tonight, boys," Dumbledore said, staring outside into the inky black sky. I wondered what he thought of Merope and Tom. I wondered if he would tell me if I asked.
"Yes, sir," Harry said, climbing to his feet. He didn't move to leave. "Sir... is it important to know all this about Voldemort's past?"
"Very important, I think."
"And it... it's got something to do with the prophecy?"
"It has everything to do with the prophecy."
"Right," Harry said slowly. He turned to leave, then turned back round. "Sir, am I allowed to tell Ron and Hermione everything you've told me?"
Dumbledore thought about it for a moment. "Yes, I think Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger have proved themselves trustworthy. But, Harry, I am going to ask you to ask them not to repeat any of this to anybody else. It would not be a good idea if word got around how much I know, or suspect, about Lord Voldemort's secrets."
"No, sir, I'll make sure it's just Ron and Hermione. Goodnight." He stalked toward the door, this time hesitating, his attention caught not by a thought but an item. "Sir. That ring —"
I turned from my seat (I didn't plan on getting up just yet) and looked at the little spindly table Harry's attention was focused on, spotting the ring immediately.
"Yes?" Dumbledore prompted.
"You were wearing it when we visited Professor Slughorn that night."
"So I was."
"But isn't it... sir, isn't it the same ring Marvolo Gaunt showed Ogden?"
Dumbledore's silver head bowed. "The very same."
"But how come —? Have you always had it?"
"No, I acquired it very recently."
"That would be around the time you injured your hand, then, sir?"
"Around that time, yes, Harry."
Harry paused at Dumbledore's smile. "Sir, how exactly —?"
"Too late, Harry! You shall hear the story another time. Goodnight!"
"Goodnight, sir."
And then Harry had left.
Of all the questions I had, there was only one I really wanted to know the answer to, even though it was likely the least important of them all. "What happened to Tom Riddle Senior? Was he okay?"
"For a time, yes."
"And after that time?"
"And after that time, he was dead. Lord Voldemort murdered his father and his grandparents. That, I'm afraid, is a story best left for another session. Goodnight, Mr. Jackson."
"No, I've got one more question, sir," I said, and Dumbledore raised his silver brows at me. "Do you... feel bad for Merope?"
"Most certainly. Her father was a —"
"No, I mean... I mean after Tom left."
"Ah. Yes, I do feel bad for Merope. I feel bad for all of those who suffer, even if they have earned that pain. She should have never forced Tom Riddle Senior into marrying her. She made her bed, and then she laid in it. It is not evil to hold sympathy for those who are capable of causing great pain; nor, I think, is it evil to not harbor sympathy. Pain is a terrible thing to inflict upon another. We are all human in the end, and we all feel pain. Why, Mr. Jackson? How do you feel about Merope?"
"I don't know, sir," I said lightly.
"That's perfectly fine. There is no unkindness in uncertainty. Whatever you feel for Merope Gaunt, know that she is not deserving of sympathy. Whether you give it or not, you are a fine person either way, and I am proud to have known you. Is there anything else you wish to ask?"
"Yes, but not tonight," I answered, standing and bidding him goodnight.
I laid down in my bed that night, Draco already in there, asleep. I wondered what expression he would wear if he suddenly woke and found that I'd been forcing him to love me all this time. Would it be abhorrence? Disgust? Anger? Fear?
He woke up suddenly, blinking blearily at me for a moment before something brighter lit his features. Joy, adoration, pure, unconditional love... he wore those expressions so easily in the dead of night, when some sixth sense of his woke him up when I was feeling down, as it always did, leading to him leaning forward and giving me a kiss so gentle, warm, and full of everything I could ever ask for, before throwing an arm over my shoulders and wrapping me in this invisible, protective shield of happiness. He held me, and I held him, and the world outside roared and thundered, crying its hateful calls, unable to breach what we had and always would have.
I couldn't imagine doing to him what Merope had done to Tom.
Draco gave me one more kiss, this one softer and reminding me that he was here, with me, whereas the other one had been more to comfort. I liked this one more. I didn't need everything I could ever ask for when he was all I ever wanted.
Guys I'm on a late chapter streak help. Yesterday I unexpectedly went to my sister's house and spent most of the day there. I got to see my nephew, though, and I love you guys, but I would burn every word of this story just to make him smile (you would too, his smile is so cute). He's so damn sweet I can't take it. I think he's trying to sign my name. I kept signing it at him, telling him I loved him, and he kept crossing his arms over his chest like you do for my sign name, and I just can't take it, guys. So I spent the day making him as happy as I could, and then he took a nap and I played a fishing game with my sister, which I suppose I would not burn this story for, but I really liked the game. I'm just happy my nephew gets to be happy. He was in the hospital for so long, and now he's going so good here. I actually got to suction him for the first time yesterday. Used to, he would cry every time you did it. Now, he just stared at me. I'm so proud of him. Also, entirely unrelated to my baby ramblings, are any of you guys going to view the eclipse tomorrow? Your favorite author here is in the path of totality. Some two million people are driving through my state, apparently. Can't wait for the traffic.
Anyway, I hope you guys have had a totally tubular time, and I'll see you soon. Love ya!