Merope Gaunt looked around the lonely, poverty ridden house she once shared with her now imprisoned father and brother. Her father had given his utmost to drill the importance of family into her, but it had been for naught, for his and her brother's treatment of the young girl taught her a very different lesson altogether. Merope was not a prideful person, unlike her family, but took pride in her ability to view the world from an unbiased point of view. After all, when you are not part of reality, merely taking a seat in the crowd to watch the show, completely disliking any of the characters is impossible, for you have the opportunity to see how people became the way they are, evil as the result may be. This was why Merope did not hate her family; strongly dislike, yes; hold a strong grudge against, certainly, but never hate.

This was also why she could not bring herself to hate muggles. How could she possibly hate people she envied to such a degree? An entire race unaware of what happened in the world around them, who never failed to be astounded when by even the simplest piece of magic Merope performed. She was, of course, thinking about Tom Riddle.

Tom Riddle was a dark, attractive muggle who lived in the village nearest to Merope's sad, filthy house. Weeks previous he had come knocking, asking questions about where her brother and father had disappeared two. He had seemed earnest in his enquiries, but Merope had heard one of the village girls daring him to try and have a conversation with her the day before. Tom, however, had looked mildly shocked when he opened the door and saw Merope. Her family leaving several months ago had lifted a great weight off her. She was not completely oblivious; she knew she would never be beautiful like some of the muggle girls in the village. Despite this, her once greasy, lanky hair was now simply clean and dull; her clothes were also free from filth; and her skin was bright and glowing. She was neither ugly nor pretty, simply extremely average, save for her eyes, which would never face the same direction.

Merope knew Tom was vain; she had seen him in the company of only the most beautiful village girls, however, she did not care. She held a deep, and to some, dark affection for this muggle boy. He was everything she wished she could have. Her fantasies, which she had always feared her father would discover, Tom would save her from the abuse of him and her brother. While her father beat her, hexed her, hissed threats at her, she used her imagination to manifest a strong, heroic Tom to save her from her pain. Of course he had never done so.

These fantasies had created a Tom who did not exist. In reality, he possibly thought less of Merope than her family did, as he did not view blood purity as they did. This is why Merope decided to give Tom a love potion.

It took much work; Merope was never a powerful witch, and had never before brewed such a fickle and complex potion. After many months, she managed it. She managed to slip some into Tom's drink before he hesitantly drank it, with much encouragement.

'Mer-Merope?' Tom Riddle looked up after taking a sip. 'I'm sorry-' he cut himself off here, looked bewildered.

'What is it, Tom?' Merope asked, positively twitching with nerves.

'You're so beautiful,' said Tom, his eyes wide now. 'And I think I love you.'

Merope Gaunt smiled.