It was quiet on the grounds to the Riddle House. A quarter moon slightly lit the unmoving trees and dark grass. Only one room in the Manor was lit, reflecting eerily in the black water of the pond. A short gust of wind blew back the frail curtains, and a loud, gruff sounding voice permeated the air. An owl took flight in a nearby tree, startled by the sudden noise.
"You're a.....a WHAT???" A young man of about twenty five stood in one corner of a brightly lit room, looking down at his young wife of three months. She sat calmly in a large armchair, hands folded over her large, nine months pregnant belly.
She looked up at Tom Riddle carefully from beneath her light brown curls. "I'm a witch. Magical." she repeated calmly, as though stating her occupation as a nurse.
The dark haired man looked at her with a mixture disbelief and rage on his unshaven face. His hands clenched and unclenched and he spoke through gritted teeth. "So that's what all that was? The floating? The suddenly healed leg? That was magic???"
She nodded, worriedly wrining her hands in response to her husbands furious onslaught.
"You're nothing but.....but a....some kind of freak!" he spat the last word with the likeness of a nasty curse.
Her eyes flashed up to him. "A freak? No! It's not....I'm not..."
"You aren't normal." His voice had lowered, his alight as he slowly backed away from her. "That usually constitutes being a freak" He had reached the end of the room, still glaring at her. "I want you out of my house....I want you....If you don't leave...." he growled softly, fumbling with the doorknob.
Miranda struggled to stand, slightly horrified at his behaviour "No! Dont' you see, this is a good thing! Think of all the things that can be done! I can...look!" she pulled out a long bit of wood and flicked it in the direction of the bed. A large, purple comforter floated and settled in her lap. She turned her eyes up pleadingly towards the irate man in front of her. "It's useful!! I can help you do things...."
"I don't need help from a witch!" he snarled.
"....and think of what our baby will be like!" she cried, almost in tears. "He'll be so wonderful....we can...he'll be...."
Tom Riddle stiffened, inhaling sharply. This did not improve his temper. If anything, it made him more defiant against the magical world. "Our son..." he began dangerously. "Your son will be....like you???"
Miranda swallowed difficultly, but raised her head and nodded firmly. "Yes. Yes he will. And Tom, I don't care what you think he will grow up to be strong, smart, wealthy..." As she continued valiantly, Tom staggered forward, eyebrows knitted, and his face bright red. "And he will be a wizard. it's notrhing to ashamed of, and it's certainyl something to be proud of."
She stopped suddenly as her husbands hand connected with her jaw. "I'll never be proud of that thing..." he hissed, as she stared wide eyed up, tears streaming down her face. "And I'll never forgive you for lying to me.....you little slut!"
He raised his hand top smack her again, but she raised her wand and sent him flying. Miranda clung to her purple quilt, sobbing. Her eyes were bright red and she cried out "I loved you Tom, but I don't know what happened! You promised you would love me no matter what!"
Tom shot one more half frightened half disgusted look, then fled from the room. Miranda broke down completely as the first pangs of child birth hit.
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After such a loud commotion, and utter chaos in the birthing room, doctors and nurses bustled about, pretending to be busy. When miranda Riddle had come in, so polite, and so dignified! No one person in the hospital would have wished anything bad upon her. She chatted nicely to the nurses as she was brought down via wheel chair, mentioning her husband might not come, nor anyone else, and would they please call her eldest brother? It was normal for wives and mothers to scream, cursing fathers and lovers as they brought life into the world, but Miranda Riddle merely begged. Begged for her sons life, and her husbands company.
The doctor in charge told the staff that she was, indeed, dying. The birth had not gone off quite well, due to stress before birth. One kind hearted nurse had been sent off to call the brother, as planned, but he could not be reached. Niccola Jeordy tapped gently on the door to the maternity ward. At the early hour, Miranda was the only one awake. Niccola was new to the nursing staff, with a bright perky smile and a wode stomach, and had gladly volunteered to see to the new arrival. She bustled in carrying a small tray of tea and biscuts.
Pale light from the picturesque sunrise fell in amonsgt the curtains, splaying gentle patterns on the young womans tired face. It was almost worthy to be painted, the scene of mother and child. Her soft brown curls fluffed about her shoudlers as she cooed softly to her newborn son. His eyes were open, gazing at his mother with something like awe. Niccola was new, and therefore had not yet gotten over the 'awwww, baby!' stage yet. Grinning she set the tray down and scooted over to sit by the new mothers side.
"He's a cute one, isn't he!" she whispered, gently stroking the fine layer of dark hair. "He don't look like you much though." She looked up at Miranda, and at once wished she hadn't.
Her eyes were sunken, with dark circles underneath. The were slightly dull as she inhaled raggedly. Her hair was not as beautiful as it had been, strands of it hung limply to the sides of her head, and the hands that rocked her child were thin, pale, and shaky. But she smiled bravely, yet tiredly up at her nurse.
"Oh yes" she agreed wanly, her voice hoarse. "He looks so much like Tom....." a tear slipped gently down the side of her face, and the newborn looked up, almost with worry. "So much.....he's got his my nose though." she laughed gently. "Thank goodness for that, I don't think he'd forgive either of us if he'd ended up with his father great conk!" Another tear slipped by what was truly graceful nose. Niccola fidgeted nervously, until Miranda offered the child to her. "Would you hold him dear?" she asked, her frail voice no more than a whisper. Though she was only in her twenties, the woman seemed older, more vulnerable then a grandmother. "My arms are getting tired....."
Niccola scooped up the small child, who didn't make a sound. She tapped him lightly on his tiny nose, and beamed. Such a tiny tot! She looked back to the mother, who had settled herself among the cushions, gazing out the tiny windows.
"And to think only yesterday I was doing the yardwork." she reminisced with a sigh. Niccola looked shock. A pregnant woman doing yardwork? Where was her husband when she was doing this?
"Probably inside watching the game." she decided aloud in disgust. She flushed, but Miranda seemed beyond hearing her now. The woman smiled softly as her eyes closed. "I think I'll call him Tom." Niccola had to lean in to hear her. "After his father. Tom Marvolo Riddle......." She breathed a sigh, and settled down farther into the pillows. "I think he's like that. Would you do that for me dear?"
Niccola felt a tear of her own well up inside, as she clutched the baby to her bosom. Miranda breathed a final sigh and lie still.
"I will!" Niccola blurted out, but her promise fell on deaf ears. Miranda Riddle, heir of Slytherin, had died.
Little Tom began to cry, as if he knew what had taken place, and Niccola sat down in the chair. wrapping the babe and herself in a giant purple comforter, the two cried together as the sun rose, uncaring to the human events taking place under its shining face.
It was Wednesday.
