Disclaimer - I own nothing you recognise.

Written for; Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition

Round Two

Holyhead Harpies

Mandatory Prompt - Set your story in Little Hangleton

Optional Prompts - Noble / Past

Word Count - 2164

Thanks to Amber, without whom this story wouldn't exist, and also to Sam, Liza and Lizzy for beta'ing.

The Price of Pride

"Have you seen the Riddle boy? He's so handsome!"

Tom smirked to himself as he sauntered down the road to where he'd agreed to meet up with his friends. Comments like the one he'd overheard were normal, but he couldn't deny that he loved to hear them.

"Tom!"

His smirk shifting to a grin. Tom greeted his friends with a nod.

"John. William. Where's James?"

"Not here yet. I think his father is still rather angry at him. It caused quite the scandal, him being found with the barmaid's daughter."

Tom snorted. "Quite. Well, we did warn him not to get caught. Still, the barmaid's daughter is better than the stable girl." He smirked pointedly at William, adding, "At least the barmaid's daughter doesn't smell like animal filth."

William failed to hide his blush.

"What is the plan for this evening?" John asked eagerly, practically bouncing with excitement.

"I won't be here for long, gents," Tom replied, his smirk pronounced once more. "The lovely Cecilia is awaiting my arrival, after all. I cannot, in good conscience, keep a lady waiting."

"But -"

"Perhaps," Tom cut in, before John could complain, "it would do you well to stop living vicariously through me and start working on relationships of your own?"

"It's not like you intend to marry Cecilia though, is it?" William asked, frowning slightly. "Everybody around here knows that the only reason you're entertaining her is because you've already dated and discarded the worthy girls in the immediate area."

"Regardless of my intentions, I am still a gentleman, and a gentleman is never late. Besides, she's rather better company than those present."

At the sudden sound of footsteps behind them, the three young men turned to find their missing friend hurrying towards them.

"Sorry I'm late. Father is still unhappy with me. I very nearly didn't escape for the evening," James said in greeting as he stopped beside them.

"You didn't miss much, James," William sniffed. "It seems Tom has better company to join."

Tom laughed. "Don't take it so hard, William. One day, you'll discover the delights of willing female company, and you too will understand why I'm rather eager to leave you."

With William firmly in a snit and John and James laughing rather cruelly at their friend, Tom took his leave, glad that he had real plans for the evening.

"Tom, darling, how are you?"

"I'm very well, thank you, Cecilia. And yourself?"

"Better now that you're here," she murmured, reaching up on her toes to kiss his cheek.

He barely repressed the urge to roll his eyes at such an obvious advance, but he managed a smile instead, lifting her hand to his lips.

"You look more radiant every time I see you, my dear."

She blushed and he found the sight vaguely attractive. She was rather pretty. After all, he wouldn't accept any less. His interest, however, lay more in what was underneath the many petticoats beneath her dress.

"I thought we could take a moonlit ride around the lake," he offered, gesturing to the stables.

"I'd love to. I'll just alert my chaperone to our plans."

"Really, Cecilia, it is merely a horse ride. I'm convinced your father knows me well enough now to trust that I can behave appropriately."

She hesitated for a moment, but with a charming smile and an innocent widening of his eyes, Cecilia conceded to him.

"I'm sure you're correct. Come then, let us saddle up."

Tom walked a step behind, his eyes occasionally scanning her figure. Yes, indeed. He would enjoy unravelling the petticoats protecting her innocence very much. While he didn't expect much to happen that evening, he was completely confident that it was only a matter of time.

He always got his way in the end.

Tom rode home, his mind only half on the task of keeping his horse on track. He had not long left a delightfully dishevelled Cecilia, and he was still rather enjoying the endorphins of the evening. He'd been pleasantly surprised by her, and his intentions of casting her aside would be put on hold for a while, he decided.

Splayed across white silk sheets, she really was quite charming.

He'd barely noticed passing the Gaunt hovel, a parasitic blemish on an otherwise beautiful village, when he felt a pain hit his neck and spread quickly along his arms and torso. Suddenly unbearably itchy, he'd almost fell from his horse in his attempt to claw his shirt away from his painfully sensitive skin. Climbing down, he steadied himself in an attempt to see what was causing the pain.

Repulsive boils had appeared from nowhere, his usually impeccable skin suddenly full of angry red spots and pulses. With an anguished moan, Tom forced himself back onto his horse, every movement sending jolts of agony through his abused body.

As he rode away, praying that he would make it to his home and the best doctors money could buy, he could have sworn he heard a high cackle coming from the Gaunt shack.

Summer arrived before Tom felt comfortable to leave the safety of his home again. Finally, after many hours spent with doctors prodding and poking at him, his skin was blemish free and perfect once more.

Having missed riding more than all else, Tom was quick to saddle up his horse. Unfortunately, it mattered not that his parents had assured Cecilia's parents that he truly was unwell, they'd agreed for her to engage with another suitor, leaving Tom without the prospect of a woman to enjoy and celebrate his good health with.

The high sun soon had sweat dripping from his temple, but he was loathe to go home alone. Passing by the Gaunt shack, Tom couldn't help but notice the young woman who lived there. Sure, she was no beauty, but it had been a while, and after so long, a woman was a woman.

He had a rather different itch to scratch than the last time he'd found himself here.

Purposefully slowing down, he ran a hand through his hair, the sweat helping the effect immensely. She watched him, eyes wide and mouth open.

Lust and longing were clear to see in her eyes, and he offered her his most charming smile.

"Hello, Miss."

"M...Mr… Mr. Riddle."

Oh, she knew of him. Well, of course she did.

"Beautiful day, is it not?" he asked, pulling his stallion to a halt. He enjoyed looking down on her from his seat, their places very much in tune with their standing in life.

"Yes, Sir. Warm… perhaps too warm. Can… Would… Would you like a drink?"

"I'd hate to impose on you, Miss…" he prompted for her name.

"Merope, Sir. Just Merope."

"Miss Merope," he murmured, nodding his head. "A pretty name for a pretty lady."

The lie fell so easily from his lips, and he enjoyed the way she looked rather faint at the compliment. By God, the girl actually looked like she was about to swoon! This would be even easier than he thought.

"I'll get you a drink," she whispered. "Lemonade. I have lemonade."

She disappeared into the hovel she called home, and Tom waited patiently. He could manage to be patient for now. After all, it wasn't like the girl was going to pose any sort of challenge to him.

Accepting the glass she offered on her reappearance, he grimaced at the state of it, but quickly schooled his features back to a charming smile.

"You are Gaunt's daughter, yes?" he asked, holding the glass away from his face. He really didn't want to drink out of such a dirty glass.

"Yes," she nodded, her shoulders dipping slightly. "My father and brother are… away, at the moment."

Tom nodded, not in the least bit interested. "On business?"

"Y-yes. The Gaunt family was of noble descent, Sir. They're trying to return our house to proper standing."

He struggled to contain his laughter. The Gaunts, of noble descent? Not likely. For as long as he'd known, and he was quite sure his parents before him, the Gaunts had been poverty stricken peasants.

"Please drink, Sir. It really is quite hot today."

His fingers tightened a little on the glass. He really didn't want it, but he wouldn't want the girl to think him rude. Cursing Cecilia's parents with everything in him, he took a gulp of the liquid before returning his gaze to Merope.

Understanding crashed upon him, and he cursed himself. How could he have missed it? How could he have been so blind and ignorant?

She was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.

He craved her constantly. Merope. He wanted her always. Merope. Would she marry him? Was he worthy of such a wonderful woman? No. Never. But he would ask her. He would shower her in diamonds. Merope.

She wished to move away from Little Hangleton. Merope. His parents couldn't see how wonderful she was. They'd argued against the wedding, refusing to entertain the idea. Merope. He'd tried to make them see, but their ignorance had ended in a fight and a threat of disownment. Merope. He'd move away with her, wherever she wanted. Merope. He only needed her anyway.

Merope.

She was his world.

Merope.

His angel.

Merope.

His sun and his moon.

Merope…

Pregnant? What on earth was this lunatic woman talking about? He'd never… Flashes of the past months flew through his mind and he shook his head.

"What are you?" he asked, horrified.

The woman, his wife apparently, had tears coursing down her cheeks as she stared at him. Her stomach was swollen with child, but to think it was his?

"Tom, please!"

"Please what? What kind of sorcery have you been using? I would never have married you under my own mind! You're… this is…"

"Tom!"

He shook his head, scrambling away from her as she neared him.

"Stay the hell away from me!"

"Tom!"

He could still hear her cries of his name as he fled the room, and the house, they'd apparently shared. Whatever she was, whatever she'd done… he was going home.

He'd escaped her clutches, and he certainly wasn't willing to allow her to trap him again, child or no.

He was going home.

"Son?"

"Mother, Father," Tom gasped in relief. He'd been travelling for days, but he'd finally made it home to his parents. To his life.

"What are you doing here?"

"The girl, she's… she did something to me, something horrible. I… I don't know, I don't know how, it was sorcery, evil magic, something… I remember little but what I do remember, it wasn't me. It wasn't! I wouldn't have married… that!"

"Tom… come, son," his mother offered a hand to him. "Come. We'll have the doctors come to you. Don't worry. We'll help you."

"Mother, I'm not crazy!" he shouted, recognising the look in her eyes. "Merope, she… she's a witch!"

"Of course you're not crazy, Tom. Of course you're not."

Led by his mother, Tom entered the house he'd called home for all his life. He'd prove to them he wasn't crazy.

"Hello, Father."

Tom's eyes widened as he took in the sudden appearance of a young man. He was the image of Tom himself as he'd been years earlier. Memories of a pregnant Merope flashed through his mind, and he shuddered.

"Tom. Who is this?"

"Grandpa," the young man greeted, a sardonic smile on his lips. "And Grandma. How… quaint. You never told your parents that you impregnated my mother before you abandoned her?"

Before anyone could answer, the young man pulled out a wooden stick and aimed it at Tom's father. Tom frowned. What on earth did the boy think he was going to do with a thin piece of wood?

"Avada Kedavra."

The process repeated, and Tom found himself staring with horror at his parents, both dead in a flash of green.

"Mother!" he shouted, frozen in his seat, sure that this could only be a… he didn't know what it was, only that this couldn't be happening. "Father!"

He felt fear as he looked back at the boy. He wasn't crazy, that much was now evident. "What… What do you want? If it's money, I have money. Or, the house, or… just tell me what you want. Don't… don't do that to me, please, please. Son -"

"Don't call me that!" the boy snarled, hate in his gaze as he glared at Tom. Recoiling in his seat, Tom stared as the expression blanked out once more, the anger and hatred gone as quickly as it appeared.

"I don't want your money, or your house, or anything else from you; except one thing. It's not something you can give me though. It's something I have to take. You see, I always thought it was useless to have a muggle for a father. As it turns out, you can be useful for something. Goodbye, Father."

The green light was the last thing he saw.