Random idea I got while downloading this song onto my iPod. Tell me if you like it, since this is technically my first songfic that doesn't involve VeggieTales.

Song: One Headlight
Artist: Wallflowers

Merope Gaunt Riddle. I never knew her, but I know we have several things in common--our name, for one. Magic is another. Both things a mother and son should share. And, as of this moment, we are both at the far corner of a small London cemetery, the corner reserved for those who are buried simply because they could not be allowed to rot on the kitchen table.

So long ago, I don't remember when
That's when they say I lost my only friend
They said she died easy of a broken heart disease
As I listened through the cemetery trees

She died an hour after I was born--I know that much. And now I know her maiden name, which is what I came here for. Perhaps I could have asked Mrs. Cole for her maiden name, but I doubt she would remember. If it's not related to something I did, twenty-year-old Scotch or both, she forgets it almost instantly. At least she remembered how to get to the cemetery.

I stare at the miniscule headstone for a long moment, the deep-etched letters mocking me. They are final. They are forever. Once finished, they cannot be erased. Like death.


I see the sun comin' up at the funeral at dawn
The long broken arm of human law

Wind rustles through the trees, like whispers of those who lie beneath the grass. I have what I need, but something holds me here. A question I can't phrase dances at the edge of my mind.

Now it always seemed like such a waste
She always had a pretty face
So I wondered why she hung around this place

No one ever bothered to tell me what she was like, and I never bothered to ask. Mrs. Cole choked on her brandy when I asked her where my mother was buried; she probably would've had a heart attack if I had pressed for more information. Entertaining as that would have been, I didn't need Dumbledore--or anyone else--coming to the wrong conclusion.

Hey, come on try a little
Nothing is forever
There's got to be something better than in the middle
Me and Cinderella
We put it all together
We can drive it home
With one headlight

Another gust of wind shudders through the cemetery, rustling the overgrown grass and tearing a dozen or more leaves from a nearby tree. It carries them away, like the dark currents that tore my mother from this world.

She said it's cold, it feels like Independence Day
And I can't break away from this parade
But there's got to be an opening
Somewhere here in front of me
Through the maze of all this ugliness and greed

She could have prevented it, or at least stopped it in its tracks. She was a witch. She could have stayed alive long enough for me to meet her.

And I see the sun up ahead at the county line bridge
Sayin' all there's good and nothingness is dead
We'll run until she's out of breath
She ran until there's nothing left
She hit the end--it's just her window ledge

I know what Dumbledore would say if I shared that with him: He would tell me how misguided I am. How not even the most powerful wizard can stop death when it comes for him, so we all just have to get ready for when Death shows up. He would tell me I'm wrong.

Hey come on try a little
Nothing is forever
There's got to be something better than in the middle
Me and Cinderella
We put it all together
We can drive it home
With one headlight

Well, Dumbledore may be smart, but he has his moments of idiocy. Actually, he has a lot of those moments. Moments of stupidity, moments of weakness. Moments he wants me to share in. But as Mrs. Cole probably told him already, I've never been good at sharing. I smile slightly at the thought, but the smile fades when I return my focus to the grave in front of me. It shouldn't be here. She shouldn't be here.

This place is old, and it feels just like a beat-up truck
I turn the engine but the engine doesn't turn
It smells of cheap wine and cigarettes
This place is always such a mess
Sometimes I think I'd like to watch it burn

The cemetery is peaceful, quiet except for the wind. Flowers lie on the graves of people with wealthy relatives, still-living kin who care about their dead enough to leave a token of their visit. Merope Riddle has no flowers. I'm probably the only visitor she's had in a while.

I'm so alone, and I feel just like somebody else
Man, I ain't changed, but I know I ain't the same

I spy a nearby grave that is practically covered in flowers, stop in front of it and read the inscription. Lucinda Matthews, born May 14, 1897. Died August 7, 1940. There is no way she could possibly need an entire garden on her grave and no way she would miss one or two flowers. I swipe two daisies from Lucinda and place them on my mother's grave. Another gust of wind threatens to blow them away, so I trap the stems beneath a rock. They rise to meet the next gust, but stay where they are.

But somewhere in between the city walls of dyin' dreams
I think her death--it must be killin' me

I have what I need, and she has two daisies to keep her company. I turn and leave the cemetery, dodging tombstones.

Hey, hey, hey
Come on try a little
Nothing is forever
There's got to be something better than in the middle
Me and Cinderella
We put it all together
We can drive it home
With one headlight