The Appearance of His Mother
Voldemort's soul trembled violently.
Like a sieve.
This was undoubtedly the scar he least wanted anyone to uncover.
"How dare you!!"
Voldemort roared madly.
However.
Dumbledore did not stop because of it.
The scenes shifted—Merope being abused by her father, Marvolo Gaunt's crazed and brutal roars; Merope secretly using Amortentia to make a handsome Muggle fall in love with her; her eloping with that Muggle, believing she had finally found happiness; then, the Muggle breaking free of the potion's control and abandoning her while she was pregnant.
This was a part of history Voldemort knew about but had never witnessed with his own eyes. Now, Dumbledore had laid it all before him within this sea of consciousness.
The woman's fate was, of course, miserable.
History was just like that. In the end, she lay alone in a London slum, gave birth to a child, and named him "Tom Marvolo Riddle."
She used the names of her father and the man who had abandoned her.
A union of glory and Muggle blood.
Then, the woman died.
When she died, she did not even have the strength to look at the child one last time. The scenes continued—Voldemort's maternal grandfather, Marvolo Gaunt, that crazed and brutal man, was sent to Azkaban for attacking Muggles and died there. Voldemort's father, Tom Riddle Sr., that handsome yet foolish Muggle, had fathered him while under the potion's control, then abandoned mother and son. In the end, he and his parents died at Voldemort's hands—at the hands of the son he had never acknowledged.
The scenes continued—those ancestors of the Gaunt Family, generation after generation of inbreeding, obsessing over the illusion of pure blood until they became mad, twisted, and deformed. Their portraits flashed by one after another, every face bearing