The Birth of Fear

I stumbled through the dimly lit streets clutching my stomach protectively. It could have been the fact that I had just had a number of alcoholic beverages but I was almost positive it was the pregnancy that was causing my extreme nausea. Feeling overwhelmed with a combination of defeat and solitude, I collapsed into a brick wall weakly. My head hung lifelessly and in the meek, yellow glow of the street lamp at the end of the alley, I grimaced at my thin, wispy, graying hair. It dangled limply to my bony shoulders and was matted due to my lack of bathing. I squinted hard to focus, not on anything in particular, more to be able to see properly. Clutching the locket hanging from my neck, I whimpered helplessly for only a moment before stiffening and swallowing my sobs.

My mouth was dry and craving nourishment. I glimpsed down at my skeletal body, remembering that I hadn't eaten in days, and hoped desperately that the tiny being within me was void of detriment. It could not be expressed in words how defeated I felt to be welcoming a child into such squalor. Had it been my choice, I would have been resting somewhere and not jeopardizing its very existence in the hazardous conditions I was. Its father would still be with me, helping me, supporting me. My eyes blurred with tears but I wiped them away quickly on the sleeve of my grimy, deteriorating robes. I patted my stomach affectionately and sniffed back the remaining guilt I felt, smiling weakly. Suddenly I felt myself swaying gently and slid down to a seated position, my back resting stiffly against the rigid brick behind me.

I squeezed my eyes shut, a familiar tightening sensation pressing against my skull. It passed quickly and I reopened my eyes, glancing around cautiously as though another were about to sneak up on me. My shoulders sunk into a relaxed state and I tugged my cloak more tightly around them, shivering slightly. I gazed up at the moon longingly, in silent awe of its beauty, and envious of its carefree suspension in the crisp, midnight air. No troubles plagued the shimmering orb; all it worried about was bathing the city in magnificent silver light. Deep, gray, storm clouds slowly swarmed around it, drowning out the beautiful metallic rays in darkness. A few icy raindrops pattered onto my head and I sighed exhaustedly. The light drizzle quickly evolved into a storm, which was most unfortunate considering I had yet to find shelter.

I crawled under the black, metal fire escape beside me and curled up tightly. Pulling my knees up to my chest gently, I rested a trembling chin upon them. Large raindrops continued to crash over my head, dripping down my face and causing me extreme discomfort. Once my robes were thoroughly soaked and I had grown accustomed to the occasional rumble of thunder, I lay down on my side and rested my head on a rolled up bunch of newspaper. My eyes were squeezed shut tightly but even through the dark of my eyelids, I often saw brilliant flashes of light, which both excited and frightened me. A jolt ran through my entire body every time a particularly close bolt struck and I found myself talking quietly to my baby, whispering that it would be all right just before I fell asleep.

I awoke the next morning with a newfound feeling of determination. My robes were still sopping from the previous night and I was quite sure I had acquired a nasty cold but I was determined nonetheless. The sky was a never-ending stretch of gray canvas punctuated by the occasional placid cloud. I caressed my swollen stomach lovingly before wandering out of my alleyway and beginning the search for a variety of necessities I had been lacking. I stumbled out in front of a wealthy looking bunch of women, all slouching uncomfortably under a slew of shopping bags. They each gave me a horrified look and one even yelped in surprise at my disheveled appearance. Unfazed by this however, I continued across the street to a large pub. The majority of people passed by without second glance but a select few would gaze around suspiciously and slip inside the front door, virtually unnoticed.

I mimicked the actions of those few, feebly attempting to blend in, though my bedraggled demeanor made it quite a challenge. Finally managing to slide in undetected, I pulled my damp hood over my face so as not to attract any unwelcome attention. This did not prove very difficult considering more than half of the people inside were either extremely inebriated or absorbed in alcohol induced conversation. I made my way to the back where I slipped out into an alleyway where I stood face to face with an enormous brick wall. Breathing deeply and reaching inside my robes, I pulled out a short, somewhat unfamiliar sliver of wood. It felt very strange within my sweaty grasp, as I had not used magic since I'd left home. I struggled to remember the sequence of bricks and squinted hard in frustration until I head a loud chortle from behind me.

I spun around feeling startled and the man froze, his gaze wandering from my head to my feet and back up again, his nose upturned in disgust until his eyes fell upon my tumescent stomach. His brow furrowed in contemplation and I was sure he was attempting to assess me and whether or not I was worthy of offering his assistance. Apparently coming to a conclusion, he stepped forward and drew his own wand, tapping the bricks habitually and without thought. He moved aside and gestured for me to pass. I was overwhelmed by his kindness, a quality I had seen in only one man, who consequentially was not himself at the time. I nervously managed to splutter my thanks and scurried through the brick wall into a place I had only examined in passing, Diagon Alley.

Unfortunately, my determination outweighed my curiosity to closer inspect the magical workings of this unfamiliar place, and I quickly strode across the cobblestone road. Greeted by a series of unpleasant remarks and repulsed expressions as I went along, by the time I had reached the entrance to Knockturn Alley I had broken into a brisk trot. I made my way down a dark stone pathway on which many dangerous looking witches and wizards were conversing. I avoided eye contact with them though I could have easily been mistaken for one of theirs. My skin was sallow and seemed to be falling off my bones, due to improper nutrition, which kept my weight unnaturally low. Besides the voluminous stomach I was sporting, I was ashen and gaunt.

Most were unaware of my eye color, unwilling to look into them directly after discovering that they were both transfixed in opposite directions, but I could tell you. They were a pale smoky gray, the color of developing storm clouds. Purple bags hung unattractively from underneath them, the result of many nights spent worried and awake. If I stood for too long, my knees would tremble ominously under the weight of my stomach as well as a certain fear I had acquired as a child. Although I was young, my hair had already mostly fallen out and grayed. I was aged greatly beyond my years but physical appearances were never anything I had kept up to begin with. My robes hadn't been washed with anything but the rain, large stains of various substances smudged rather prominently on them.

I darted between the intimidating witches and wizards until I came to an opening where the street widened and on either side, dark looking shops were scattered. Only tones of gray, black, and brown could be identified as I continued along, my paranoia growing increasingly fast. I shuffled into an unsightly and rather repugnant shop, a venerated preference of my father's that brought unfavorable memories to mind. A tiny bell rung above my head and I jumped, startled by the tiny clank it emitted. A scraggly looking man hobbled out from behind a large ancient looking casket and narrowed his eyes at me. He growled in annoyance and meandered toward me, his back hunched in what looked to be a painful position as though he had been sitting like that for too long and it simply stayed like that when he stood up.

"I'd like to," I started, clearing my throat strenuously as a weak, scratchy voice clawed its way out of my mouth. It had been too long since I'd use that voice aloud. Running my tongue along the chapped roughness of my lips, I repeated uncertainly, "I'd like to sell you this locket."

I unhinged the tiny clasp at the back of my neck with ease, and dropped it on the counter, which he had taken a seat behind. He eyed me suspiciously and grabbed it, dangling it from the chain. He observed it carefully from over the top of his nose and his eyes darted back and forth between the locket and I as though he were amazed I could have acquired such a precious heirloom. Of course, at the time I had no idea what it was worth. All I was worried about was getting money to help buy food and hopefully support my child. He obviously took notice to my eager face and grinned wickedly, revealing a row of hideous yellowing teeth, though I couldn't be too disgusted for I hadn't brushed my own in weeks. His face brightened maliciously as he studied me, no doubt trying to calculate just how big of a fool I was.

"How much do you think its worth?" I asked hopefully in the same pained voice.

A look of false contemplation graced his wrinkly face and he frowned, shaking his head back and forth in disappointment.

"Oy, Burke!" he shouted over his shoulder gruffly, his eyes still lingering on the locket. "Come have a look at this!"

Another tall, greasy looking man appeared from the back with a very bitter look about his face. He squinted petulantly as he eyed me with disturbingly evident disdain.

"Come look at this," the first man repeated, holding up the golden heirloom.

The haggard man called Burke shuffled toward it, sudden interest and excitement dispersing the vexed expression he had sported not a moment before. He mimicked the first man, looking back and forth between the locket and me and finally his face came to rest in a very bored, very unimpressed manner. He let it clatter back onto the counter carelessly, though there was a strange look of wariness that flickered in his eyes before the rapid reinstatement of his icy glare.

"Can't be much more than," he took another moment to study the locket. "Ten galleons."

He lied through his teeth with ease, and I wish I were not so blinded with determination that I could not see it, for if I had, I could have demanded a more appealing offer. Had I realized how inestimable the entity was, my child would have come into great wealth through my magnificent inheritance; however, my eyes lit up with joy instead of the rage they should have been.

"Perfect," I breathed, eagerly watching him count out ten, large, golden coins.

Carefully scooping them into my hand, I stared at them in silent awe. It was the most money I had ever owned for myself and I was certainly proud. For a moment, I thought about what my father would say about my auctioning of his precious locket but pushed the notion to the back of my mind and took the time to bask in the glory of my newfound wealth. The two men wore matching yellow-toothed grins as they bade me good day and I foolishly took it as a gesture of thoughtfulness, though it was hard to imagine when I would have even thought of it at all considering I was so absorbed in my shiny new galleons.

The New Year was almost upon me, and I found my stomach more swollen than ever as the first approached. I was more pale and sickly than before and my ten galleons had already dissipated. A strong feeling of defeat crushed my meager spirit and the only thing occupying my thoughts was that of my child. Once it was born, I would be free. I would not let it suffer through a life in squalor with a weak, squib of a mother. I stumbled through the streets determinedly, possibly the only quality that I still possessed. I felt completely drained and empty but pushed forward, watching the tiny building steadily growing as I approached. It was late and the navy sky cast a blanket of concealment over me, which I was grateful for. I had endured more stares than I could handle already.

A warm glow radiated from the windows of the tall, antiquated edifice. I could see silhouettes maneuver about in the flickering candlelight. The frigid air whipped my skin raw, rendering me incapable of experiencing the glacial sensation. I continued walking, my hope increasing steadily as each step brought me closer to freedom, closer to quiescence. The wind whistled fiercely and whipped the sullied hair around my callous face. My lungs contracted painfully as the icy air spiraled through, deadening them with its frosty infiltration. I gasped determinedly and though it was to know avail, I felt as though the intake granted me strength, for soon I found myself immune to the cold as I pressed on, thinking of nothing but reaching the front door. I struggled to persuade both of my eyes to focus on the same point.

I was almost there. I attempted to increase my speed when I felt a sudden release and wetness seeping through my robes. I was terribly confused and frightened and began waddling toward the building quickly, tears now streaming down my cheeks in trepidation. Was something wrong? A sharp pain rocketed through me and I staggered, stopping only to catch myself. I screamed in pain as more tears rushed down my cheeks. I was so close; I couldn't give up now. . . I clutched my stomach and continued onward, hoping desperately that someone would see me through the window. I panted heavily, reaching for the door though it was still a considerable distance away. I saw the door open and the back of someone as they waved to the others inside.

"Help!" I choked through my sobs. I could only hope the vehement breeze would not smother my wavering cries.

The figure spun around, squinting into the darkness until my crumpled form came into view. As it quickly approached, I realized it was a man. He knelt beside me with a furrowed brow and searched my eyes with his own. I screamed again as more pain pulsated through me. He suddenly looked panicked and lifted me off the ground, quickly but gently rushing me back to the house. My hands were still protectively cradling my stomach but my eyes were tightly squeezed, hot tears trickling down my cheeks. He kicked the door with his foot, balancing me carefully in his arms until someone opened it. They appeared to be laughing until they realized what was happening. The man carefully set me down on a tiny bed and back away nervously. Three women bustled over to me, worried expressions on their young, lively faces.

One of the women placed a cool towel over my forehead and though her lips were moving, I couldn't hear anything she was saying. I squinted around fearfully as more bodies flooded into the room. A sharp pain rocketed through me once again and I screamed. Tears coursed down my cheeks, try as I might to stop them. I desperately searched the gathering of people for a familiar face, and felt exceptionally crestfallen when I didn't. This was a warm welcome to the prevalence of defeat, and a lament of pain and yearning escaped me. My breathing was exasperated and irregular and before I could stop myself, I began hyperventilating. I irremediably craved the warmth and comfort of another hand, to feel fingers entwined with my own, silently reassuring me that it would be all right.

I could barely make out what was happening next. My tears blurred the entire room and all of the sounds in the room seemed to be melting together as they reached my ears. Concerned voices, hushed whispers, cries for help, and screams were darting at me from every angle, eventually joining in a single rushing sound. I wasn't sure if I was the one screaming but the most excruciating pain I'd ever felt ricocheted through me and I was deeply reminiscent of my childhood. The worried faces and warm glow seemed to disintegrate and the next thing I knew I was in a dark, gray room. An armchair, the single piece of furniture in the vicinity, sat square in the center, its back facing me. An unkempt man sat on the floor beside the chair, muttering nonsensical things to himself.

I glanced down to find a scrubbing brush in my hand and a collection of cauldrons beside me, squalid and unsightly. I stared at the back of the armchair helplessly as tears blurred my vision and my lip began to tremble habitually. The looming gray shadows of the room enveloped me in seemingly irreversible melancholia. Almost as if in the presence of an invisible Dementor, I found myself reliving the most contemptible of my memories. Salty tears trickled down my cheeks as the recollections overwhelmed me. Mostly that of my father and brother, I vaguely wondered what vindicated their abuse and why I never attempted to defend myself. I stared down at one of the polluted cauldrons and heard soft taps as my remorse pattered to the bottom.

Suddenly a figure draped in bedraggled robes stood up from the armchair and whipped around to face me. A short, wrinkly faced man glared at me, his brown eyes flashing dangerously. I instantly recognized the man as my father and shrunk into the corner fearfully as he approached me, bellowing furiously. His vocabulary was quite colorful, as I could tell from the stream of obscenities that spewed fluidly from his lips. My face crumpled as he bent down, grabbing the locket around my neck and yanking me up by it. The chain punctured my skin painfully and I cried out to my brother, Morfin, hoping desperately that he would help but already knowing he wouldn't. Morfin spun around and began hissing and spitting at me wildly, though I could distinctly pick out the words squib and slut.

I screamed tempestuously and tore open my eyes to find a group of unfamiliar faces staring back at me in horror. My head sunk back into the pillow I was propped against. I swallowed loudly, breathing heavily and deeply disturbed. I was stricken with overwhelming exhaustion and felt my body go limp. Staring up at the faces around me helplessly, one woman broke through, carrying a small bundle in her arms. She smiled weakly. I felt my heart flutter delicately. My throat felt extraordinarily parched and I gave a loud, wheezy cough. I held my frail arms out and they shook ominously. The woman gave me look of uncertainty before carefully placing the bundle in my arms, a look of extreme skepticism gracing her placid face. I gazed at the tiny being, my customarily unfocused eyes locked onto his flickering eyelids.

He was sleeping peacefully and looking very serene. More tears blurred my vision and I sat with him for what seemed like ages, though in truth it was only a few minutes. One of the younger women took him from me, telling me to rest. I felt extremely tired and fragile, even more so than before. It felt like my ribs were slowly caving in, and with them the rest of my petite form. I felt as though I were shrinking into nothingness, and quickly came to the realization that my time was up. I glanced at the tiny baby and gestured for the woman holding him to come to me. She silently obliged and held out the child for me to take but I weakly shook my head in refusal. She gave me a questioning look and curled the newborn back into her arms carefully. I was grateful he was in good care.

She rocked the baby gently and I felt my eyes well up with tears. It was perplexing to cry out of happiness rather than misfortune, but I welcomed it gratefully. It all seemed worth it at that moment. Everything I had had to overcome to get to that point suddenly held overwhelming significance for me. I wiped my nose across the sleeve of my unkempt robes while chuckling pitifully. My thoughts began to drift and though I tried desperately to preserve the memories, I felt them slipping away from me. My tears of joys were suddenly replaced with foreboding prediction as expiration loomed about me. The only thought that kept flickering in my mind was the naming of my child. That newborn was all that was left of me, and I would leave him as a partial imprint of myself; though hopefully much better off than I was.

"Tom," I said meekly, staring distractedly at the baby.

"S'cuse me?" the woman asked confusedly.

I let out a quivering breath then swallowed loudly, feebly trying to stifle the sobs that were clawing at my throat and attempting to pry my mouth open to free themselves.

"Tom," I repeated dismally. "After his father."

She nodded, smiling sadly. She glanced down at the child and stroked his cheek with her finger, whispering things I couldn't hear, though it was clearly benevolent as I could observe from the congenial expression on her face.

"And Marvolo, after my father."

I wasn't sure why I chose to honor my father with such a meaningful intimation, but it seemed imperative that his legacy be continued, despite the rejection he most certainly would have displayed. I felt obliged, considering I had betrayed him so severely. I knew that he would never be able to look past my inadmissible choices, especially my taste in suitors, but I held hope. Though knowing perfectly well it was in vain, I chose to be ignorant and content rather than conscious and neglected. It was all I could do to plead for some form of forgiveness, the only thing I had ever hoped for from my father. Completely abandoned and shunned, I longed for a pittance of leniency and at the very most, dejected compliance. Perhaps he would show mercy for the minute gesture I appealed with, though I highly doubted it.

The woman glanced up and acknowledged me silently. I deeply appreciated the sympathy she granted me, as I was quite unaccustomed to it. I continued to gaze unwaveringly at the child, sadness etched in the exhausted lines of my drooping face. My breathing was shallow and desperate as I struggled to coerce the last name from the tip of my tongue. I took a deep breath, attempting to gain some composure, however little it may be. I exhaled shakily and pursed my lips together tightly in preparation, unsure of what affect the familiarity would have on me. If I spoke the words aloud, I would be unwillingly verifying my failure and consequent solitude. It would validate the involuntary abandonment of my love, my life, and my child. Dismissing all trepidation and uncertainty, with my last breath, I came to terms with everything I had ever feared.

"And Riddle," I whispered bravely. "After the man I loved."