She looked almost precisely as she had in the pensieve—eyes slightly too far apart and wide with fear, hair and dress a bit unkempt, skinny—but for the loose postpartum swell just below her waist.

"Merope," Harry said.

She regarded him, then nodded a little.

"Do you know who I am?"

"Harry Potter," she said quickly.

Harry nodded. "Do you know why I've summoned you?"

She looked deeper into the forest and sighed. He wanted her to say something, but she didn't.

"You've got to talk to him," Harry said. "People have died. People are dying right now."

"I know!" she snapped.

He hadn't anticipated this. In the memories he had seen, Merope was a nervous, abused creature—the kind of girl who would die of a broken heart after birthing a son to the only man she'd ever loved. The specter standing at the edge of the forest certainly looked the part, but her teeth bared in a snarl. Harry has expected a sad young woman. He met an angry witch.

Well, things had come too far to be dissuaded now. "You've got to talk to him."

"It's no use!" Merope hissed. "He hates me. He hates everything but himself and my great-great-howevermany-greats grandfather. Turn the stone again. He'll listen to Salazar."

"It's your job," Harry said firmly. "You brought him into this world. You abandoned him with people who wouldn't understand what he was. You set in motion all this violence."

She crossed her arms and looked away. "I don't care if muggles and mudbloods die," she said.

"Do you care that he murdered his muggle father? Didn't you love Tom Riddle?"

Merope glared. "Love him? I owned him. He was mine."

"You're lying," Harry realized. "You were obsessed with him, and when he abandoned you, it broke your heart."

Merope's lip quivered. She clenched her fists. "We were married," she said quietly. "In a church and everything. We were married and I carried his child. That should have been stronger than Amortentia."

Harry regarded her coldly.

"It should have worked!" she insisted, snarling and glaring again.

Harry waited until her temper cooled. Her fists relaxed.

"Merope," he said gently. "It isn't your fault that you didn't understand how love works. You... you had a rough go of it. I get it." He pushed aside the memory of the snick as Uncle Vernon locked him into the cupboard under the stairs. "But what you did to your neighbor Tom Riddle was evil. And what you did to your son Tom Riddle unleashed more evil into this world than you had thought possible."

She glared. But, she nodded.

"Come with me," Harry said. "Talk with your son. You guided him into this world and he's terrified to leave it. He needs you."

Harry waited.

"Fine," Merope said, turning towards the forest. "I'll try."

She led him into the moonlit forest. Dementors hovered a dozen yards away, but something about Merope's presence disconcerted them. Somehow, she knew the way to go. As he walked, Harry tucked his wand under his robes. He knew he would try to defend himself if he could; he needed not to.

Before he was ready for it, Merope led Harry into the clearing where he had once met the giant spider Aragog. Death Eaters fanned out, arranging themselves into a wide circle around Harry.

No one seemed to notice Merope except for Voldemort, who stared at her aghast.

"How is this possible?" he asked.

After a moment, Lucius Malfoy cleared his throat nervously. "My Lord, I believe Harry has accepted your invitation."

"Silencio!" Voldemort cast. Malfoy shut his mouth. Voldemort pointed a bony finger at Merope. "How. Is. This. Possible."

"Shall we seize Harry for you, my Lord?" Yaxley offered.

"Crucio!" Voldemort cast, reducing Yaxley to a ball of shrieks and sobs. Voldemort pointed his wand at Harry. "Explain this, boy. The more you talk, the longer you live."

"I've heard that one before," Harry pointed out. "It's time to end this."

Merope took slow, deliberate steps towards Voldemort, who stared at her with widening eyes. She reached out. Her fingertips just barely touched his cheek. His jaw dropped.

"My poor boy," Merope said. "Look at what you've done to yourself." She caressed his face again. "And you used to look like your Papa, too. So handsome."

Voldemort pointed his wand at her heart. "Avada Kedavera." The jet of green light passed right through her. The last thing Harry saw before it hit him was Merope Gaunt wrapping her arms around her son for the first hug in decades.

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The rest would be the same, except Nagini would already be dead, so Neville would need some different way to shine.

This story was written in response to u/15_redstones's prompt on r/HPfanfiction