Merope Gaunt stared longingly at the man on horseback. She couldn't see his face, but she knew it well, despite the fact he had never once spoken to her, never once looked at her. She knew his chiselled features, the dark hair.
She knew the sharpness he spoke to most people with was an act, the rudeness in his tone when he spoke of so many people a pretence – how could it not be, when he spoke to his Cecelia with such kindness? Spoke to her like she was his world?
Merope ducked back into her tiny cottage when Tom made a move as if to turn to face her direction. No. Cecelia was right next to him. How could she compare? What did she have that Cecelia didn't?
There was only one thing she could think of.
Was...was it possible?
Her hands shook as she held out the flask. He took it, not looking at her. He drank deeply, clearly unaware of her eyes fixed on his face with adoration.
He lowered the flask. He finally looked at her then, his face a cross between utter confusion and enthralment. Merope shivered, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks as he looked at her even as she looked at him, as his dark eyes bored into hers. He spoke up, his mouth forming the words that would ensnare her completely.
"You're Merope, right?"
"I'm sorry?" he asked, smiling faintly at her. "You're a what?"
"I'm a witch," she mumbled to him, pressing closer to him.
"A witch?" he repeated, sounding half amused. "Merope, darling, there's no such thing as witches."
"I am one," she insisted weakly. How to explain to him, how to show him? She drew her wand from her pocket. "Tom, look at this."
She murmured a spell under her breath. The glass of Amortentia he held gently floated away from him, into the air in front of his astonished face. The shine of astonishment surged feelings of happiness within her chest, feelings that sank to the pit of her stomach the instant she saw another emotion in his eyes – fear.
"Don't worry, Tom," she whispered, raising her face to his as she prepared to voice words she would never regret, as she prepared to say a single sentence that would prove that despite her love potion ensnaring his heart, it was still he who was in complete control over her. "I promise – I'll never use it again."
She may have had control over his love for her, but she had no control over his decisions. He decided what he wanted. If she thought doing something would make him unhappy, she would immediately forfeit that. Her magic wouldn't change his love for her, but it would make him upset and she couldn't bear to see that.
It hurt, to see her wand in front of her and recall her promise to Tom – I'll never use it again. She had never been particularly talented, as her father had always been quick to point out. Better than he gave her credit for, but she wasn't close to the cleverest witch in the world. But there had always been something special to have her wish granted at the flick of a wand. Something she would never have again, something Tom had never known.
She didn't regret it. Oh, no – she couldn't regret her promise. She couldn't regret promising him she would never use magic again. Because it was what he wanted of her. And she, unlike him, could never deny him anything.
Merope held the glass in her right hand, a plate of eggs and bacon in her left. Tom lay before her, asleep. Putting down the tray, Merope tenderly swept the hair from his brow, gnawing on her lower lip. She allowed her hand to rest against her husband's pale brow, her wedding ring glittering on her finger.
She pulled her gaze away from Tom for the briefest moment, to look down at her stomach. She carried their child. A child she would love and that he would love. A child that she would love as much as she loved her Tom and a child he would love more than he loved her, because his love for it would be true.
Keeping his mind and heart under her control, keeping him enslaved, was almost more than she could bear. It broke her heart to keep him under the control of Amortentia. But it was what she had to do to keep him with her. For him leaving her when she had had him would be worse than never having him in the first place.
Surely he loved her in return, after all this time. Surely he felt the same way for her as she did for him. How could she still rely upon Amortentia to keep him close to her?
Merope raised the glass to her nose, inhaling the scent. Cherries, fresh lilies, and...him. It smelled wonderful.
She indulged in the scent for another moment, then got up to pour the contents of the glass down the sink.
As she turned to return to his side, he awoke, calling, "Merope?"
She was weeping unashamedly. Tears streamed down her cheeks, her eyes wide. "Tom...I love you."
"I don't love you," he hissed at her. "You bewitched me, tricked me into thinking I did."
"But..." she stammered. "The baby. Our baby."
"Is no child of mine," he completed. He turned to storm away from her, leaving her alone, pregnant, and sobbing.
That was the last she ever saw of him.
She had two possible things she could sell – Slytherin's locket and her diamond wedding ring.
She would never sell the ring.
And thus, she staggered into the store, the heavy gold locket in her hand.
"Can I help you?" the man behind the counter asked her, an eyebrow raised. His expression was stern, his voice disapproving.
"I would like to sell this." It felt strange to not have the weight of the necklace around her throat. She placed it on the counter. The man slowly picked it up, his other eyebrow raising like the first. Astonishment. He traced over the S with his index finger, staring.
"How much?" he asked finally.
"How much are you willing to pay?" She was surprised by how steady her voice was.
Burke looked at her calculatingly. Finally, he offered, "Ten Galleons."
Merope smiled a faint smile, nodding. She took the handful of gold he offered her, and strode out of the store, without the locket for the first time she could remember.
"What are do you want to name him?" Mrs. Cole asked, holding the hand of the panting young woman.
"Tom..." She paused to let out a scream. It took her a moment to catch her breath. "Tom Marvolo Riddle. Tom...was his father's name. Marvolo was my Dad's name."
"Interesting name," was all Mrs. Cole said. She fell silent, the only sound for the next few minutes Merope's panting. "I'll be back in just a moment – tea's ready."
Merope reached into her pocket as soon as Mrs. Cole turned away from her, grasping the wand she had vowed to never use again. She didn't know much about healing, but she could probably ease the pain, keep herself alive through the birth of her child.
She wouldn't.
She had promised Tom she would never use magic again, and even though he had left her, she would keep that promise, keep it until her dying breath.
It was tempting, so much so it hurt, almost as much as the physical pain. It had been so long since she had used magic...
But she would not raise her wand ever again. Because even when he was long gone, Tom Riddle still controlled her heart.