"I love him, I love him so." The timid girl said to herself sneaking a peak through the window in front of her. Her eyes were just above the windowsill and there was small amount of red on her extremely pale cheeks. The black strands of unkempt hair covered her dark eyes and a majority of her features. She wore rag-like clothes that were covered with stains from odd jobs, and perhaps her unceasing fascination with the shrubbery.
"You wretch I'm calling you!" yelled an old man who was using an awkward language in a nearby room. Merope straightened instantly and stumbled her way to the doorway. The house was musty. It looked as though it had been uninhabited for at least a year or two. The dark brown wood floors had accumulated heavy coats of dust in some areas. The once lavish furnishings of the home were either faded, dust covered, or falling apart slowly. Appearances can be fooling and that's what this abode had proved. In fact three people lived here--the last descendents of the famous Salazar Slytherin himself--Marvalo, Morfin, and Merope herself. Marvalo was—is the man yelling (in Parsteltongue). He is also her father. "What took you so long?" He said irritated, extremely. The ring he wore shone. Salazar's ring. Her father snorted and held out a messy tray and a plate. The plate was completely clean however most of the surface of the tray was covered in sticky mush from the food that had been made earlier.
In most cases people would sigh, complain, and possibly even nag. Not dear Merope. It wasn't that she was too nice, polite, or lenient. Merope was recessive. Her father and Morfin indeed, ordered her around far too much. There was a reason to this unfairness in the household. To them Merope was what you call a Squib. A Squib in a wizard family is the equivalent to the saying of a 'black sheep' in the family. Merope could not perform magic correctly and she was so horrible that her father openly told her how much he wished to disown her if she ever had messed up in showing her lack of magical ability. "Girl!" Her father yelled out still in his cranky mood. She rushed back only to retrieve the drink mug she had left behind. Morfin had walked down the stairs and stared at her for a moment then turned his head leaving for the door. There wasn't much of a relationship between any of them.
The water ran quickly and Merope had cleaned the mug and half of the now non-edible food off of the silver French style tray. Now's my chance. Merope thought somewhat hopefully. Giving a deep sigh and closing her eyes for a moment she opened them and tried to point her wand (that had been in her apron pocket), at the tray. She clearly but quietly mumbled a word and the tray levitated for a moment. When she caught sight of this she let out a small happy gasp. The tray instantly clattered down into the sink and timorous girl winced giving out a small whimper. Merope really thought it was going to work. Her father started shouting asking what 'the little brat' did now. Merope's gaze stayed down while she was in the kitchen and she finished washing the tray and putting it away. I can get away far from here. I know I can. The only problem is that the Gaunts (not including Merope) never really went anywhere unless there was something in the Wizarding World that called out to them. She only hoped that would be soon. Morfin had spoken of leaving somewhere. That night all was silent. Morfin had not returned which didn't really worry her. He was always out causing trouble for them, using his magic around the town without precaution. Marvalo already was growing tired of it as well. Of course, that didn't mean he favored Merope more. She was a Squib. It was then that she heard a noise outside. She slept on the second floor and decided to investigate. Creeping slowly up to her small rain stained window she could see a young man, he was their neighbor. What is he doing walking at this hour? The dark haired girl thought curiously. Her cheeks flushed as she continued to stare at him. I must see him! I must.