Chapter Text
Tom Riddle did not have much to love in his life. In fact, if you asked his old schoolmates, acquaintances, or followers, they might say that he didn’t love anything at all. That he was incapable of loving. And perhaps they were right.
But Tom Riddle did lust.
Not for the pleasures of the flesh, companionship, knowledge, or anything of the like. No, the only lust in Tom Riddle’s life was the lust for power. Everything else was merely a stepping stone on his quest for it.
Which led him to the current debacle. Stuck in a chateau in the Alps with a woman, a wailing newborn, and a nursemaid. Though, not stuck in a literal sense, per se, but a more metaphorical one.
For the past few years, Tom had been toying with the idea of conceiving an heir. Not particularly with the idea of passing on his possessions and legacy, especially since he’d already taken steps to insure his immortality, but more along the line of strengthening his upcoming empire. A child he could mold into the perfect little soldier.
This was what led him to Avis Angevin; a dark-haired, rich socialite he’d met in Albania during his travels. Originally, he’d passed her off as too vapid and vain to be worth his time. Sure, she could be considered pretty enough, but nothing too tempting to warrant subjugating himself to her company. His perspective on the matter did change once he resolved to obtain an heir. She then became the perfect candidate for what he needed. Born to the Angevin family, a large and prominent family with a magical history dating back to the 1600s, she was practically guaranteed to produce a child of significant power. Not to mention the wealth tied to her name.
So Tom moved to Albania with the intention of wooing Avis and her family. Avis proved to be as malleable to his machinations as he had predicted; she was very quickly besotted with Tom, though her family was more hesitant to the match. Of course, they were charmed by him, but his heritage proved to be a bit… lackluster in their eyes. His connections to Salazar Slytherin prevented him from being laughed out of their home, but his status as a half-blood was nearly unforgivable.
And so Tom, ever the pragmatist, convinced the very pretty, very stupid Lady Avis to elope with him. They had a very modest ceremony in a German Vineyard before hiding away in one of her family’s many summer homes. A small chateau nestled in the Swiss Alps.
Once Avis became with child, Tom took more and more time away from the chateau. In order to keep his new wife complacent as well as help her with the pregnancy, Tom outsourced the help of one of the Angevin family’s servants who had been raised alongside Avis. Though originally wary of bringing in another to potentially mess up his plot, the servant girl had proved herself to be trustworthy and competent enough in her assigned tasks. Avis’s constant pestering of Tom had petered out.
And then the baby was born.
It was a girl. She had her mother’s dark brown hair rather than Tom’s midnight black. Her blue eyes were surprisingly vibrant, especially considering neither Tom nor Avis shared them. It must have come from further down one of their lines, thought Tom. Her skin shared a similar paleness that Tom carried, though certainly not to the same extreme degree. He could tell that her facial features would eventually grow into the similar Mediterranean style that Avis had.
Tom could also tell that this child did not have a single drop of magic in her body.
A squib. He had produced a squib. Months in the making and all of it down the drain all because the child was a squib. Tom sneered down at the child crying in the crib over his consolatory glass of brandy. He did not pick the child up to comfort it.
Tom consoled himself with the fact that at the very least he had not wasted any more time than necessary on this project. A runic spell of his invention had given him immediate answers on the status of the child’s magical core (the status being that it didn’t exist) rather than waiting years after the fact to see the child perform a feat of accidental magic.
Tom chalked this venture out to be a fantastically catastrophic failure. Children, as the fates so kindly spelled out for him, were not something to be considered for his future. And so, with one last cursory glance at the weeping babe, Tom turned to tie up loose ends.
The nursemaid standing demurely behind him with her head turned respectfully down, waiting to care for the child, did not see Tom raising his wand before the flash of green light hit her. He absentmindedly stepped over her body as he left the nursery.
Avis, exhausted from the agony that childbirth brought with it, barely lifted her head as Tom entered the birthing room. Sweat and tear tracks marred her normally composed complexion. She gave him a weak smile.
Tom gave his wife a cold smile back.
Later that night, after the chateau had been scrubbed down of all the attestations of human habitation, Tom locked the doors one final time. Two bodies slowly turned in the air behind him as they burned. The fire crackled merrily as the ashes vanished before they could hit the courtyard floor.
Tom considered the baby carried in his arms. Avis’s use had expired the moment the child was born. The fact that the child lacked magic was just another nail in her coffin. And even though the child was a squib, it still possessed more use than the mother. Because even though it ruined his plans, wasted his time, and demanded that he reevaluate his overarching schemes for ultimate power, the child did carry one thing of use: his blood. Though not sure what it would be used for at the moment, Tom didn’t see the harm in keeping it alive for the sole purpose of providing a powerful ritual element.
So, with a travel bag in one hand and a sleeping baby in the other, Tom nudged the portkey sitting at his feet with one of his polished Oxfords.
The fire burned out in the silent courtyard, taking with it the last of the evidence that anyone had ever been there.
*****
Desdemona Doherty had fancied Tom Riddle from the first moment she laid eyes on him. He’d been the prefect that had welcomed her into Slytherin House, and then two years after he’d achieved the status of Head Boy. And she wasn’t alone in her infatuation. It seemed to Desdemona that every girl in the school had fallen for his chiseled good looks and tastefully styled hair at least a little bit. Jealousy would have run rampant within her if not for the aloof unattainability he so seemed to embody. According to her housemates, Tom Riddle had turned down every proposition, every confession, every girl who had ever plucked up the nerve to pursue him romantically.
And though this had shattered any confidence she’d ever hoped to have when interacting with him, she thought he was quite right to do so. After all, why should a man of his caliber ever settle for anyone less than perfect?
Despite her own perceived inadequacy, she’d chased each and every exchange she had with him. She’d question him about the history of Hogwarts, academics, anything she could use as a reasonable excuse. And he encouraged it. Indulgent smiles, patient help, and even gifted her a bottle of perfume one Christmas.
Eventually, Tom Riddle graduated, and the school seemed to move on. New heartthrobs were singled out; ones much more attainable than him. Though it took longer for her infatuation to dwindle, eventually Desdemona was able to push Tom Riddle from her mind. She graduated from Hogwarts with honors in Potions, and she eventually opened up her own little apothecary in Diagon Alley. Lovers came and went. Her business bloomed. Her relationship with her family was as stable as ever.
Desdemona was extremely content with her life.
Until, of course, Tom Riddle came waltzing right back into it.
He’d shown up at her home doorstep looking distraught and disheveled. The only time Desdemona had ever seen him looking less-than-perfect. He’d crafted a wonderfully sympathetic story that left Desdemona aching with pity. Tom had naively fathered a bastard child with one of the Sacred 28. Tom refused to disclose who. Not only was the child a bastard; it was also a squib. Though never said outright, he heavily implied that the mother and her family sought to kill the baby, a sweet newborn baby girl, in order to preserve their family honor. Tom had lost all of his friends in the feud and no longer had anyone left to turn to.
Except for Desdemona. The fellow housemate who’d always been kind to him.
Desdemona felt righteous indignation rise within her at the injustice Tom was being served. She’d never liked the pure-blood politics that flooded her old house, and Tom’s plight only strengthened how unfair it all was. So Desdemona swore resolutely to Tom that she would help him even if it killed her. Not to be dramatic, but she felt it suited the situation.
Tom showered her with a swath of gratitude, explaining how he would never be able to repay her.
He then rapidly explained his plan. He insisted that the child could not remain in the country, as it would never be safe in Britain with its mother’s family after it so. He wanted Desdemona to find a new placement for the child – perhaps with a nice muggle family – while he led his ex-lover’s family on a wild goose chase.
Then, just as quickly as he arrived, Tom Riddle left. Without a name for the child or an idea of where to take her.
But there was no time to dally. Both Tom and the child were depending on her.
Keeping in mind any future relationship Tom might wish to have with his child, she decided that she’d place the girl in a country that spoke English. Eventually, she settled firmly on the United States.
So, Desdemona petitioned a portkey from the Ministry citing that she wished to travel a bit with her child before she reopened her business. Thankfully, those who handled her petition in the Department of Magical Transportation were all men who did not realize how bizarre of a request that was when the child in question was a newborn.
Not even three days after her odd encounter with her old schoolmate, Desdemona found herself walking out of MACUSA’s own DMT and into the shiny and busy streets of New York City. It wasn’t too off from the feel of London, but there were enough differences that it still felt alien.
But she wasn’t here to sightsee. She had a mission to accomplish. So she started looking. Desdemona was a moderately skilled Legilimens (a skill she rarely found a use for back home) which aided her monumentally in her search for parental candidates. She’d peer into the eyes of suitable muggles just waiting to come across the right pair. She did this for nearly an entire week before she was content with her choice.
Jim and Estelle Jackson were New York natives. The two of them complemented each other in personality and in spirit. Where Jim was overbearingly kind, Estelle held a calm patience. They encouraged each other’s interests and hobbies, communicated their feelings effectively to one another, and loved each other very much. Both of them held stable jobs; Estelle was an event planner and Jim was an electrician. Most importantly, the two of them had been discussing the idea of finally starting a family.
It was simple for Desdemona after that. She followed them that night, apparated into their home, and got to work modifying their memories. She invented memories of welcoming a bright little girl into the world and the love that came with it.
Desdemona leaned closer to the little girl now resting in a dazed Estelle Jackson’s arms. “A name for you now, since your father did not leave you with one.” The baby blinked up at her. Desdemona smiled. “I’ve always wanted a Sally of my own, so you shall be Sally Jackson.” The baby merely yawned in response. Desdemona locked the name into the new parents' minds.
With a final kiss upon the girl’s head, she apparated away.
Unfortunately, the luck that led her to the perfect pair of parents did not last. When Desdemona reentered MACUSA’s portkey office, she discovered that it had been put under unplanned emergency maintenance. The workers were suspiciously close-lipped (and seemed embarrassed) about the reason why. But they explained to her that her options were to either wait a week for the office to get back up and running, use the portkey office located in St. Louis, Missouri, or get back home using muggle means.
Since this was her first time in the Americas, it wasn’t possible for her to apparate to the St. Louis offices as she’d never been there before. And she really didn’t want to wait for their office to get repaired. It looked like she’d have to travel the muggle way, even if she didn’t like it.
MACUSA helped her get a ticket and some credentials together and she was on an aeroplane headed back to England (which was then delayed three hours after she got to the airport). At first, she marveled at the sheer novelty of flying in a huge metal contraption higher than she’d ever been before, but the wonder quickly dried up. There were no less than three toddlers who insisted on throwing a fit nearly the entirety of the flight. The earplugs the flight attendants gave didn’t help much either. Someone in the row behind her vomited half an hour into their journey, leaving behind an ungodly scent. She was also stuck sitting in an aisle seat next to a man who apparently didn’t understand the concept of personal hygiene as well as insisted on taking up as much of her personal space as possible with his legs. He also hogged the armrest.
Desdemona contemplated most of the seven-hour flight on whether or not to break the Statute of Secrecy in order to solve her problems. She would pull a book out of her travel bag and try to read to take her mind off it.
What Desdemona didn’t know was that she wasn’t just coincidentally unlucky that day. She’d caught the eye of a Greek Goddess. More specifically, Oizys, the Goddess of Misfortune.
Oizys, though she very rarely put all of her attention on a singular mortal, couldn’t help herself with this one. Desdemona Doherty, the goddess mused to herself. A woman with a name like that? She’s just asking for it.
It was because of this attention that the plane just happened to have a fairly rough landing at Heathrow Airport. It meant that during the flight, one of the passengers opened an overhead bin with a faulty latch and didn’t manage to close it correctly afterward. It also meant that there was a particularly heavy suitcase located in that bin carrying particularly heavy things that belonged to a traveling geologist sitting three rows up and two seats over. It just so happened that this bin and suitcase happened to be right above Desdemona’s seat.
And so, by Oizys hand, the plane jostled in its landing at Heathrow Airport, popping open the unsecured overhead bin, allowing the heavy suitcase to slip out right at the moment Desdemona leaned down in her seat to stow her book back in her travel bag. It was by pure chance that the corner of the suitcase slammed right into her neck at full force, shattering her spine and killing Desdemona Doherty instantly.
Oizys, pleased with her work, cackled softly to herself before shifting her fickle attention to other places.
And so it was that Tom Riddle never received news about where his child had disappeared to. Though left feeling slightly inconvenienced, Tom reassured himself that if the time ever came when he would have need of the child, he was intelligent and driven enough to find her. But in the meantime, he reasoned he would gain nothing by sparing the child any more of his thought.
Tom Riddle continued his pursuit of power in Wizarding Britain.
Sally Jackson slept blissfully on in the arms of her parents.