Love Potion
What a beautiful man…what do I care if he has no magic? He's a gentleman. And he's got money. And I've never gazed upon anyone more beautiful.
Pa and Morfin would have none of it.
But they aren't here anymore, are they? Their absence is the difference between sun and shadow. Music and weeping. Magic and terror. My lips curve into a smile. Squib, they called me. A Squib? I think not! I am a witch and a Parselmouth as all my ancestors were and as my descendents shall be.
I've been getting prepared for a month. Not merely the potion, but myself. Magic can do great things. My hair is beautiful and glossy now. My eyes are identically perfect after days of experimental transfiguration. I'm still not as beautiful as he is, but no one is.
The only thing I can do now is wait. The sun is shining brilliantly. The world is rippling with the heat and gelatinous outside my window. The potion is clear and supposedly sweet, like water to a parched tongue and cracked lips. It has fermented for two days so that the effects are strengthened. I chilled water especially for him and it sits in a pitcher in a bed of ice.
And suddenly, he is approaching, astride a handsome chestnut steed. I run to the door and begin sweeping the stoop, my excuse for being outside when he is passing by.
He is dazzling in the sunshine. He's even more stunning close-up than from a window, peering outward. His wavy black hair shines and his dark eyes gleam. His face is pale and flawless. And it glitters with beads of sweat…that is a good sign. Could it be the fates are in my favor?
His horse reachs me and his good manners get the better of him. He smiles politely and says, "Good day." His voice is velvet.
"Quite hot." I say, fanning myself with my hand.
"Indeed, quite." He agrees, nodding, he shields his eyes and gazes up towards the sun.
"Would you like a cold glass of water?" I offer, with a smile.
Fear flashes in his eyes, "I reckon your brother may not fancy that."
"He's in prison." I say, willing him to comfort me, "So is Pa. I'm alone."
I see a glint of sympathy in his eyes and then he says, "No, thank you, I don't wish to intrude. I can't allow myself to take advantage of your hospitality and be a nuisance."
"You shan't be." I assure him, "Stay here, I'll be back in a moment."
I go inside the house and fetch the clean glass I had ready for him. I fill it with delightfully cold water and doctor it with the concoction. When I return to him, he had dismounted. He is a head taller than I am. He accepts the glass gratefully and unquestioningly and drinks it thirstily.
He drinks every last drop and exclaims, "So sweet!"
Then something in his eyes flickers and he looks at me like I am all that life could hold worth having.
"You're so beautiful…" he sighs and brushes his fingers against my cheek. A shiver dribbles down my spine. "Is your name as lovely as your face?"
"My name is Merope." I tell him, "And I love you."
He took my hands into his. They are warm, soft and elegant, with long tapered fingers and clean fingernails. "Come away with me, Merope. I love you so." The words ring in my ears.
I look into his eyes and smile mischievously, "Only if you kiss me first."
He laughs, "Oh silly beautiful Merope! Payment ought not to rival the prize in delightfulness! And yet," he winks at me and my heart leaps, "I shall not complain!" His beautiful lips meet mine and fireworks explode in me and the butterflies in my stomach turn to Hippogriffs. I blush and I feel beautiful. I have never known this feeling before in all my life.
When our perfect, golden kiss is broken he whispers, "Enchanting. That's the word for you, my love. You enchant me."
He didn't know how true it was.
--Fin--
