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There were only so many opportunities for a woman born in 1883 to establish herself in the world. Mary Payne knew this well. So she was always top of her class in school, always reading the papers, keeping an eye and an ear out for any chance to increase her knowledge. When she married Thomas Riddle in 1902, she made it very clear that it was to be a marriage of equals, that he would always respect her opinion and take her seriously. Thomas agreed wholeheartedly - Mary’s brain and her outspoken attitude had attracted him to her in the first place. Thomas was three years her senior but they were equal intellectually - Thomas always said that if Mary’s parents had allowed her to go to university, she would have beaten him in every class.
Thomas and Mary were married in July, soon after Thomas graduated from university with a degree in law. Mary was only nineteen at the time, so she and Thomas agreed to wait a year or two to try seriously for children. Their first son, Tom, was born in February of 1905, and he was perfect in every way. Mary longed for more children, but each pregnancy after Tom ended with a miscarriage. By 1912, the couple had accepted that they were to only have one child, and consequently spoiled him rotten. He always had the newest toys, the newest books, the nicest clothes, and if he was sometimes a bit impolite and stuck-up Thomas and Mary didn’t mind it.
Every night, Mary would read to Tom. Not storybooks, oh no, but law books and history books. Tom was raised on a steady diet of the scientific method and objective fact. Mary knew that she could trust anything out of Tom’s mouth because he didn’t believe in fairytales.
By 1925, her son had grown and matured into a smart, handsome, and clever young man, honest almost to a fault, and had attracted the attention of one Cecelia Barton, the eldest daughter of a Baron. The Riddles were not nobility but were a well-respected family with more than enough money to spare, so the marriage was approved of by everyone involved. It helped that they were truly in love.
If Mary had to choose one word to describe Cecelia, it would be “practical.” She didn’t put on airs because of her father’s title, she was willing to work hard, and she was never phased by slight inconveniences. In short, she seemed to be perfect for Mary’s son, who had never had a flight of fancy in his life.
They were set to be married in late April of 1926. It was to be a simple wedding - simple in comparison to most society weddings of the day. But on March 17th of that year (Mary would never be able to forget the day) Tom disappeared. On that same day, the last Gaunt child disappeared as well. Rumors began to swirl around the town - Tom had fallen in love with the girl, Tom had gotten the girl pregnant, Tom had run away with her. Of course, the Riddles and the Bartons paid no attention to these rumors, but it was plain to see that something had happened to Tom, so they hired a team of private investigators to find him.
Well, find him they did, and in the company of the Gaunt girl, as well. But something wasn’t right. They took him home, paid off the investigators handsomely for their silence, and waited for him to return to normal. Because the way he was acting was strange: he couldn’t focus on anything, would occasionally giggle, and twice proclaimed the girl - her name was Merope, of all the ridiculous things - to be his one true love.
Mary and Cecelia concluded that Merope must have drugged him in some way, but thankfully there seemed to be no lasting harm, for two days later Tom was back to himself with no signs of withdrawal. He didn’t speak of the few weeks that he had been gone often, but when he did, he only described it as “a haze” and said he couldn’t remember how it had started, how Merope might have slipped him the drugs. They weren’t sure if she was in love with Tom or wanted to ransom him for money, but either way, they were just glad that he was home and safe.
Thankfully, things went back to normal, and practical Cecelia did not let any of it stop the wedding. Their marriage was blessed with five children - first Annaleise, born in February of 1927, named after Cecelia’s grandmother, then twins, Esther and Diana, born in March of 1928. Gertrude was born in February of 1929, and Charlotte was born in January of 1930. Annaleise, Diana, and Gertrude took strongly after Cecelia’s side of the family, blonde and bright-eyed, while Esther and Charlotte looked very much like Mary, with thick dark hair that did not like to be ruled. All five children were raised on Mary’s diet of scientific facts and history. The family was happy and content and would have remained so, if not for the depression of the 1930s.
Mrs. Cole was absolutely overrun. The number of children in the orphanage just kept growing - the orphans of the Great War were in their teens, and their numbers were augmented by a steady stream of children whose families simply could not afford to feed them, dropped off in the middle of the night. It was out of pure desperation that she began to put out advertisements in the papers, listing the names and ages of those who still might have family out there, begging the families to come to take the children. She didn’t really expect anything of it, but something had to be done. She began with the advertisements in 1930, and there had been a few children reunited with distant aunts and uncles, so it wasn’t a complete loss. The advertisements also brought a handful of kind souls who chose to adopt children unrelated to them.
In the early spring of 1933, a wealthy couple showed up on her doorstep with a newspaper in hand. Mrs. Cole had to do a double-take: the man looked almost exactly like the six-year-old Tom Riddle. She ushered him and his wife inside, taking them into the parlor.
What can I do for you?” she asked, although she was pretty sure that she already knew the answer.
The man introduced himself as Tom Riddle and his wife as Cecelia Riddle. He spread the newspaper out onto the table, opening to the advertisement on page seven, where Tom M. Riddle, Born Dec. 1926, was listed.
“I’m afraid that there’s been a terrible misunderstanding. You see, before my wife and I were married, there was a slight, shall we say, indiscretion on my part, and I was unaware that any child had resulted from that night.” He glanced at his wife, but she clearly already knew, because she didn’t seem shocked or surprised. She did, however, look sad, which Mrs. Cole could understand.
“When I saw this name in the papers,” he continued, “and I saw his date of birth, I knew that I had to see for myself what was going on. If you’d be so kind as to fetch the boy, Mrs. Cole, my wife and I would be much obliged.”
Well, fetch Tom Riddle she did, but the couple insisted on talking to the boy alone, so she busied herself with other tasks while she waited for their conversation to finish. Truth be told, she wouldn’t be sad to see the back of little Tom. He had always unnerved her, hardly ever crying as a babe, reading at a very young age when he had never been formally taught. He didn’t seem to latch on to any affection he was shown, so eventually they stopped trying. He just seemed to exist, somehow, as if he didn’t need anyone else. It was an uncharitable and unchristian thing to think, but it was true.
Thankfully, the couple seemed satisfied that Tom was indeed his son, and Tom was sent upstairs to pack as Mrs. Cole had them fill out the paperwork. It was a quick process - releasing to family always was - and soon enough Tom was in an automobile, being driven away from Wool’s for good.
They decided to call the younger Tom “Junior” to make things easier, what with a Thomas and a Tom already in the house. It wasn’t always smooth sailing - Cecelia was the oldest of four girls and all five of her children were girls as well. Mary was the one who had experience raising a son, so Mary gladly helped Cecelia. Junior knew that Cecelia wasn’t his real mother, but she raised him as her own anyways. The family was reclusive enough that there was no big fuss over the adoption of a son born nine months after Tom and the Gaunt girl had disappeared, and within a year, most of the village acted as if Junior had always been a part of their family. It wasn’t easy for him to suddenly have five sisters, all younger than him, but they adored Junior and followed him around. He was an independent child and fiercely ambitious - his tutor had to be replaced when he was eight, as he had advanced well past the other children that the tutor taught.
When he turned nine, Junior discovered a fondness for being in the gardens and could hide out there for hours, occasionally talking to Frank, the gardener, but usually alone. Neither Tom nor Cecelia were concerned - he had become remarkably well adjusted, for a child who spent six years in an orphanage. In fact, he reminded Tom of himself at that age: curious about the world around him and sometimes alone but never lonely. He and Annaleise had become very close - at the age of eight, she decided that she was almost a mature adult and looked up to her older brother with rapt admiration.
Junior never asked about his birth mother, and Tom never volunteered any information about her. Those few weeks terrified him, when he thought about them too much, and he decided that it was all for the best that they acted as if Junior was Cecelia’s son as well. Whatever madness the Gaunts carried had clearly not affected Junior.
There were times when strange things seemed to happen around Junior. Once, Charlotte had been following him around and interrupted his reading, then suddenly found herself in the attic with no recollection of how she had gotten there. Another time, Diana dared Esther to go into Junior’s room and snoop around and somehow the door to the twin’s bedroom became jammed and wouldn’t open for a week. But Tom was a man of science and was able to explain each incident satisfactorily, so it didn’t bother any of them.
In the summer of 1938 the family’s peace was shattered by the arrival of a tall, bearded redhead on their doorstep.
The man’s name was Albus Dumbledore, and the outfit that he wore was so awfully bright that they allowed him in just so that he wouldn’t be seen on their doorstep. Thomas was the one to open his door, and when Mr. Dumbledore explained that he had a message for one Tom Riddle, Thomas sent Gertrude to go find her father. Tom, Cecelia, and Mary joined Thomas and Mr. Dumbledore in the parlor, but Mr. Dumbledore explained that he was actually talking about their grandson, so Junior was called into the parlor as well.
There, on that unusually cool summer day, Mr. Dumbledore nearly succeeded in shaking the foundations that Mary held to so dearly. Using his wand, he demonstrated a series of spells that had no explanation that Mary could divine. Of course, being who she was, she immediately began peppering Mr. Dumbledore about the theory behind each bit of magic that he showed them, and he happily answered, seemingly relieved that they weren’t reacting in a more negative manner. Cecelia, ever practical, asked why Mr. Dumbledore was there, showing them these tricks.
“It is because Junior here is a wizard. He is also able to learn magic.”
The silence that followed was absolute.
“Tell me,” Mr. Dumbledore said, turning to Junior, “have you ever done something that you cannot explain? Perhaps when you were angry, or frightened? Accidental magic is quite common in children, especially when they feel strong emotions.”
“I can talk to snakes.”
As strange as this whole conversation was, Junior’s parents and grandparents were not able to find it in themselves to be shocked. If a man in a purple robe could turn their teapot into a swan and back again, then talking to snakes was something that they would just accept. Mr. Dumbledore, however, paused when he heard that, turning towards Junior and staring at him intently.
“Is that something wizards can do?” pressed Junior. “They find me in the garden and tell me stories. I didn’t want to say anything because,” and here he turned towards his father, “I didn’t want you to think that I was going mad, that I was becoming like the Gaunts.”
Cecelia reached out to grab Junior’s hand, to comfort him, but it was Mr. Dumbledore who broke the silence.
“It is a rare skill, but not unheard of. Many unfairly associate it with dark magic. Who do you mean by ‘the Gaunts?’”
His question seemed to hold a deeper meaning than just a conversational inquiry. Tom took it upon himself to explain.
“There was a family that lived in a shack nearby called Gaunt. There was a father, Marvolo, and two children. The daughter was named Merope. They were known for being slightly mad and dirt poor. Merope was Junior’s biological mother.”
His tone of voice clearly suggested that the conversation should end there, but either conversational cues were different in the magical world or Mr. Dumbledore just didn’t care about them, because he responded, “that would explain Junior being a Parselmouth - a snake talker. The Gaunts were the descendants of a well-known wizard who was famous for the ability. The man, Salazar Slytherin, was in fact one of the four founders of our school, and one of the houses is named after him.” He then explained the house system to them. Thomas immediately decided that Cecelia was a Hufflepuff, Tom was a Ravenclaw, Mary was a Slytherin, and he himself was a Gryffindor. Cecelia thought the idea of sorting eleven-year-olds by personality trait was ridiculous and said so.
The conversation proceeded genially from there, although it was clear that Tom was lost in thought. Eventually, it was decided that Junior would attend Hogwarts, although Mary would send lessons by mail so that Junior wouldn’t fall behind in the many subjects that Hogwarts did not see fit to teach. Mr. Dumbledore agreed to return in a few weeks to show the family how to get to Diagon Alley to get Junior’s wand and buy school supplies, and told them that they were free to tell Junior’s little sisters as long as they were old enough to keep a secret.
“And you will take good notes while you are there, so that you can share them with me. Focus on the theory behind it. The scientific method can be applied to magic just as much as it can be applied to anything else,” insisted Mary.
Tom, speaking up for the first time in a while, asked Junior to leave for a moment, he wanted to speak with Mr. Dumbledore alone. Thomas and Mary followed him out, but Cecelia remained behind, aware of what her husband was about to ask.
“You say that Merope Gaunt was a witch.”
Dumbledore nodded. “Indeed she was, although she herself never attended Hogwarts.”
“Is there a spell that could make someone fall in love with someone else?”
“Not a spell but a potion,” responded Mr. Dumbledore. “It is known as Amortentia and is illegal to use on someone without their consent.”
“That would explain it, then,” said Cecelia crisply, when it was clear that Tom wasn’t going to respond. “So we were right, after a fashion. The drugs were simply magical in nature.”
And with that, they bid Mr. Dumbledore goodbye.
He didn’t go by Junior in school. His housemates hated him enough for being muggle-raised, even with his insistence that he was descended from Salazar Slytherin himself, and a name like Junior was just another target on his back. He went as Tom, and carefully constructed the image of a hardworking and knowledgeable student. His Grandmother’s instructions to understand and focus on the theory behind magic actually helped him excel: where his classmates were complacent, accepting of magic because their lives had been saturated in it, he strove forward, breaking new ground. By the time he was in his fifth year, classes were laughably easy, and he was already doing research with both Professor Slughorn and Professor Merrythought. He had discovered years ago that his talents in Parseltongue provided him with enough respect in Slytherin house to overcome the disadvantage of being muggle-raised. He didn’t care too much about his magical lineage: when he compared his own family with stories of the Gaunts, it was clear who he wanted to be like, who he looked up to.
So Tom Riddle never learned about the Chamber of Secrets, never discovered the Basilisk within, never killed Myrtle Warren. He did advance far beyond his housemates, both in magical and muggle subjects, and became Head Boy at seventeen. This Tom Riddle never gathered a group of subordinates around him, never started the Knights of Walpurgis, because he didn’t feel the need for such things. And besides, Knights of Walpurgis? Annaleise would have laughed herself silly.
Every summer, Mary would sit with her grandson, pouring over class notes for hours, trying to understand exactly how magic worked and how it might be improved upon. By the end of Tom Riddle’s school years, Grindelwald had just been defeated, and the Wizarding World was eager for change, eager for something new. They found it in Tom Riddle, a genius who managed to take muggle ideas and improve magic with them. It did not take long for them to offer him positions in the Ministry of Magic, in the Wizenagemont. But this Tom Riddle didn’t want to be bogged down by inefficient bureaucracy. He instead accepted a posting at Hogwarts, as Defence against the Dark Arts professor. In his spare time he continued his groundbreaking research in all number of fields. It became well known that if you were intelligent, especially if you were muggle-raised, Tom Riddle was the one to talk to about research opportunities.
Simply, quietly, Tom Riddle rewrote the Wizarding World. After all, how could the average wizard look down on muggle-borns when it was clear that they were favored by Tom Riddle? How could anyone claim ancestry was everything when Tom Riddle himself publicly stated that he was prouder of his muggle lineage than his magical one? And if there were a few pureblood holdouts who refused to “get with the times,” well, they were in the clear minority.