A/N: This was sort of inspired by a documentary I watched on Anne Boleyn, how she had a daughter instead of a son and all that.
Disclaimer: Don't own Harry Potter, in case you've been misled by the site called FANfiction.
It was supposed to be a wonderful day.
I was ready for my baby, ready for my son. Gaunt tradition states that two sons born
one after the other insures good fortune and wealth. For seven generations, that was
what happened. Two sons, then several more children, though none as important as those
The birth of Morfin was joyous. He came into the world squalling, small and pink and
perfect. I cried when I saw him.
He was three years old when I began to grow bigger around the abdomen
and pick out baby names. He loved to toddle over and rest his hands on my stomach and
feel his little brother kicking inside.
Only it wasn't his brother.
All the experts had agreed, as had all the mid wives. Being superstitious, my mother-
in-law sought an astrologer for assurance of a baby boy. The astrologer promised that,
yes, it was a male.
They were all wrong.
I went through hours of labour, during which I thought my body would split from pain. I
held out, knowing I had to see my son.
When I finally forced the child into the outside world, I collapsed, exhausted, waiting
for the cheers of happiness, to be passed the bundle wrapped in blue.
It was in pink.
I gasped when I saw the colour, thinking, no, no, it cannot be...
When the Healer pulled back the soft folds of cloth there was no mistaking it-
No. No. It had all gone wrong, no, it can't be a girl, I wanted, I needed, we all
needed, a boy!
I had no clue what to do when the Healer brought me a birth certificate. I didn't
even bother looking for girl's names, so sure of the birth of a son.
I did the only thing I could, I signed my own name as hers, naming her after myself.
Merope Pandora Gaunt.