"...That was on Christmas Eve in 1927, when you were born amid a heavy snowfall. Your mother gave you this name and then closed her eyes forever..." The elderly, kind-hearted old woman reached out to stroke the delicate boy who looked just like a little angel, his ink-black hair as soft as feathers beneath her hand.
Tom's dark eyes sparkled with light as he lay on the old woman's lap, listening to the story he'd heard countless times. "Dean~ Why didn't my mommy ever wake up? Did she not like me, so she left me behind?"
The Old Dean sighed. Facing a three-year-old child, she simply couldn't bear to explain what death meant to this adorable little one. "Little Tom~ She's your mother; how could she not love you? She's just become a star in the sky now~ Like her name, Merope Gaunt, she'll always, always be watching over you."
"Really~?" The light in Tom's eyes burned even brighter. He clambered down from the Old Dean's lap, his short little legs pumping as he toddled to the window. He climbed onto a stool and stretched out his chubby white hand toward the night sky. "Mommy~ I'm right here! You have to watch me closely!"
Watching the child's innocent antics with tender affection, the Old Dean prayed silently in her heart for the poor boy: May God bless Tom, so he can forever keep his soul as pure as it is now—like the heavy snow on the day he was born, clean and untainted.
"Alright~ Tom, come here quickly. It's bedtime. Do you want to hear a story tonight?"
Hearing the Old Dean's call, Tom let out a joyful cheer. In the orphanage, his absolute favorite person was the Old Dean. Unlike the detestable Mrs. Cole, who would pinch his arms when no one was watching, the Dean never bullied him like the other children did.
"Dean, I'll grow up fast and earn lots and lots of money—all of it for you!" Tom was led along by the Old Dean's rough, slender hand, tilting his little head up with a face full of earnest seriousness. He'd seen the Dean secretly sharing her food with others, filling her own stomach with just water. As long as he had money, the Dean wouldn't have to go hungry like that anymore!
Swallowing the tickle in her throat, the Old Dean smiled with loving warmth. This little fellow was the most beautiful child in Wool's Orphanage, the most obedient and sensible one—and the one who tugged at her heart the hardest. Even when he was bullied, he never came crying to her for help.
If only that young woman were still alive...
"Okay~ The Dean is waiting for you. We're here—lie down quickly. I'll stay right here until you fall asleep."
Obediently nodding his little head, Tom climbed onto the thin, hard bed. He shed his clothes and burrowed into the icy covers, shivering instinctively. With a smile, he bid the Dean goodnight. "Dean~ Can you tell me more about what Mommy looked like? I'm afraid I'll forget."
Tucking in the edges of Tom's blanket, the Old Dean chuckled softly and planted a kiss on his forehead. "Of course~ I'll keep telling you until you remember it all..."
"Your mother was like you, with long, pitch-black hair. Though she was very frail at the time, her eyes were filled with love... 'Tom Marvolo Riddle, Tom, I love you.' Those were her last words. I think she must have been eagerly awaiting your birth, because she truly loved you, Tom..."
Contentedly closing his eyes, Tom still didn't understand what love was, but he was happy all the same. At least he knew his mommy hadn't just dumped him here. Maybe one day he'd find other family, and then he'd finally grasp what the Dean meant when she talked about love.
But one thing he was certain of: he really liked this kind and gentle Dean. He hoped she could stay by his side forever, until he figured out what 'love' truly meant.
In his dream, Tom saw a woman—small and thin, with an ordinary face. Her eyes stared fixedly at his, giving him a strange feeling, as if she were looking right through him at someone else.