A/N- Read, enjoy and review, and, if in the mood, check out my other stories too. This story, is about Merope dying because I felt really bad for her after reading Book 6. BUT PLEASE REVIEW. Even if you, for any reason, hated it, review telling me that you hated it. And if you liked it, must I ask you? review!!!
She falls.
The ground is cold and hard, but pleasant compared to what she has faced, causing her to relish the feeling of the frozen street beneath her, but the feeling lasts only for a few seconds- till the pain strikes her, hitting her hard, almost as a surprise. But she had been expecting it... She wants to get up, but cannot. She can feel the tears falling from her eyes; they were never beautiful eyes anyway; they were plain and grey, with pupils facing in opposite directions. No one would care about those tears…her face looks haunted and the rest of her body looks no less ghastly. She is pale, and apart from her lower abdomen, is bony all over. She closes her eyes…
'You're a witch…' said the cruel voice, the same cruel voice that she loved so much, the same cruel voice she was prepared to die for, the same cruel voice whose child was breathing inside her.
'I am,' she croaked. She always croaked, that was just how her voice sounded. It wasn't angelic or at to say the least, normal, it was harsh, no different from the rest of her. She had never been normal, and who would being separated from the world because of blood?
'You never said,' said the man. He was taller than her and much better-looking. She didn't even look human.
'I couldn't,' the tears had begun falling already.
'Get away from me, you stupid whore…'
'I cannot believe-.'
'Believe what? That I fought your stupid black magic on my own…? I know you trapped me under your dark spell…let me go, you crazy wench!'
'I-I can't…I'm with child…' she sobbed. The tears were all over her face, making her dreadful features seem worse than could be imagined.
'I don't care for you or that brat you say you have…'
And she was on the floor. He had hit her with all the force he could muster…and he had gone. She couldn't use the potion on him anymore, not when he wasn't even there.
The child was coming…but she didn't have the strength….she wouldn't be able to…she would die…the child would die-the last sign of her love…
'Worthless squib!'
'You like that muggle…do you have any idea…the worth of that blood flowing in your veins? You don't deserve it…you ungrateful…'
----
She could hear voices…
'She's dying,' said the first voice, a female voice. It almost sounded kind. But kind voices were all lies, no one was kind. It was an imaginary make-believe word people used to cheer themselves up. It was a cold, selfish world. Everyone had their own needs, no one else mattered.
'But the child?'
'It will come…'
'But the girl?'
'Worthless squib…'
'We can't be too sure about the girl.'
'Do you have any idea…the blood flowing in your veins…?'
'She hasn't eaten for weeks.'
'You stupid whore…'
'How is she still alive?'
'I don't care about you or that brat you say is in you…'
'The child is coming…hold on…'
And the she could only hear her own screams…
----
'He's here…'
'The girl?'
'She's…I can't say-check her pulse.'
'She's still alive ma'am…but not for long.'
Merope stirred in her sleep, trying to wake herself up, and failing. And failing…she wasn't going to wake up from this sleep; how could she?. She hadn't eaten in weeks. All her energy, her life-force was to be used for the child…the last sign of my love.
The heir of my blood. Slytherin's blood.
The locket was gone…for a mere ten galleons. But she hadn't been in the mood to argue with that shopkeeper…
It was priceless…worthless squib…blood traitor…
She was half-gone. She knew it, her dead father's words echoed through her ears, piercing through her skin, slowly draining all the life from within her. He was dead, and she was going to join him.
Blood traitor. Love you call it? That muggle had to desert you, he was a fuckin' muggle…and you're no better. Our last heir is a half-blood. Years of such carefully preserved blood...gone in one instant…one small instant…gone forever…
She didn't deserve to live. But her child…?
The last descendant…dirty blood…sick…worthless…all because of you…
Her child deserved to live. He didn't know who he was. He didn't know of the power that ran beneath his veins.
Filthy Half-breed…
Slytherin's power…
Her eyes flashed open, but not allowing her to see. The outside world was dark. All blank.
'Tom,' she whispered, and for the first time in her short life, the words coming out of her mouth did not sound harsh…it didn't sound human like she had always wanted it to, but angelic, unearthly, pure. Much more pure than she believed herself, or anyone else, even Tom Riddle to be. She was slowly growing aware of her aura, growing brighter every second. She could sense the creatures from the other world…she could feel…
Her father…
Her brother…
She couldn't wipe the tears, she couldn't move…
'Your child, miss,' said the voice she had earlier heard.
'Mine?' she murmured weakly, her innocent voice seeming to echo till the farthest points of the universe and beyond. Her skin was now a golden-translucent colour, and she herself was almost see-through. Her pale blue veins could be seen below her pale skin, which was fading from pale to nothing. Her eyes were still unfocused, and her sight still blank.
'Yes, miss, but your health-,'
'Let me see?' she said, fully aware that that was something she couldn't do.
The child was handed to her.
She stretched out her arms, accepting him, which seemed impossible with her rapidly decreasing stamina.
'He's yours,' the woman gently said.
'My blood,' said Merope, but neither the woman nor her assistant heard her. She held the child. She couldn't see him, but she could sense him in every other way.
'He's a boy,' she mumbled, 'Slytherin…blood…boy…'
The woman and her assistant weren't listening, but were whispering to each other.
'Her mental state-,' were the only three words Merope could catch, and she didn't care about the rest. Her child was all that mattered.
Only her child. The last descendant.
'Tom!' she suddenly shrieked.
'Excuse-,'
'Tom,' Merope continued, 'after his father…he is to be named Tom…Tom Riddle.'
Stupid whore…
'After his papa.'
'Miss, are you-?'
'And Marvolo-,'
Worthless squib…
'-after mine.'
'Miss-, but?'
'Tom Marvolo Riddle,' said Merope, now smiling for what seemed like the first time in years, feeling happiness run through her veins for the first time in her nineteen years. The joy was incomparable to anything else she had felt. Nothing, not even that muggle making love to her, not her leaving for Hogwarts, not her graduation, not her freedom, nothing…nothing could defeat what she felt now. Nothing.
'My boy,' she said, 'my boy. He's beautiful…'
'Yes miss-,'
'My boy,' she continued, 'Slytherin blood. Muggle blood…'
Half-breed.
'But he's my boy,' she unexpectedly gasped, being unable to breathe, 'My boy-,'
'SHE'S DYING!!!!!!!!! GET HELP!!! FAST!!!'
'I-I hope he looks like his papa,' she whispered, slowly realizing that she was leaving her child, 'his papa...he looks…'
She looked at her child for one last time mouthing the words, 'I love you.' And she was gone.
A/N-see that button down there? Its calling you…its got your name on it…Press, even if its for flames.