In Tom's study
When he returned home from Little Hangleton, Tom went straight to his study. He didn't feel like talking, because if he spoke, sobs might come out. He'd had enough of crying, even though he felt somehow lighter after the events of the day. There was a queer emptiness inside him he didn't want to face, so he set himself to a task.
He searched for something he desperately wished to find. He rummaged through old papers, Minerva's letters from before, the books he'd found in the hiding places in Albania. He'd done this before, scoured through the belongings from another life, looking for this one little thing. He'd had no luck. His mother's picture was nowhere to be found.
It had been a small thing, a mere slip of paper. It had been sent to him anonymously by owl in his fifth year. What had been strange was that the picture was of the Muggle variety. It showed a still, serious young woman in sepia tones. Her hair was bobbed, and her lips were pursed in a cupid's bow. She was dressed as a bride, and it was plain to see that the picture had been sliced in half to cut the groom out of the picture. The back of the picture was labeled "Julia Marvolo, on the day she left us".
Tom never found out who sent the picture, but he was as certain it was his mother. He knew it, as much as he knew he could speak to snakes. It had been his most prized possession, even though he showed it to no one in school, and only displayed it in the open when he had safe, warded rooms of his own. It had been on his nightstand in a fine frame in 1954. It must have stayed there for a long time.
He desperately desired that picture. He could see it clearly in his mind, but holding it made her seem more real.
When he'd finished meticulously searching through all of his old belongings, he sat down at his desk. He folded his arms on top of the desk and rested his head upon them. Timothy, his nightmare mouse, skittered out from the top drawer where he lived, and crawled into Tom's hand.
"Hullo, little friend," he whispered. He closed his eyes. Not for the first time, Tom Marvolo Riddle wanted his mother.
He searched for something he desperately wished to find. He rummaged through old papers, Minerva's letters from before, the books he'd found in the hiding places in Albania. He'd done this before, scoured through the belongings from another life, looking for this one little thing. He'd had no luck. His mother's picture was nowhere to be found.
It had been a small thing, a mere slip of paper. It had been sent to him anonymously by owl in his fifth year. What had been strange was that the picture was of the Muggle variety. It showed a still, serious young woman in sepia tones. Her hair was bobbed, and her lips were pursed in a cupid's bow. She was dressed as a bride, and it was plain to see that the picture had been sliced in half to cut the groom out of the picture. The back of the picture was labeled "Julia Marvolo, on the day she left us".
Tom never found out who sent the picture, but he was as certain it was his mother. He knew it, as much as he knew he could speak to snakes. It had been his most prized possession, even though he showed it to no one in school, and only displayed it in the open when he had safe, warded rooms of his own. It had been on his nightstand in a fine frame in 1954. It must have stayed there for a long time.
He desperately desired that picture. He could see it clearly in his mind, but holding it made her seem more real.
When he'd finished meticulously searching through all of his old belongings, he sat down at his desk. He folded his arms on top of the desk and rested his head upon them. Timothy, his nightmare mouse, skittered out from the top drawer where he lived, and crawled into Tom's hand.
"Hullo, little friend," he whispered. He closed his eyes. Not for the first time, Tom Marvolo Riddle wanted his mother.