Author note: Just a quick one-shot look at the life of Merope Gaunt, who I've felt sorry for ever since I first read HBP, poor girl, she had a hard life.
WARNING: Beyond this point there be spoilers for the sixth Harry Potter book.
Disclaimer: obviously you all know as much, but I do not own the characters and such in this fic, they all belong to the fabulous JK Rowling.
The Watcher
Hot tears streaming down her sallow cheeks, she quickly fled the house. Her father's voice, hoarse from too much shouting, followed her out the door, his words hitting her with the sharp pain of a whip, driving her forwards as well as one. Gasping for breath Merope did not look back as she ran, she knew every inch of mossy wall and cracked paint of her dilapidated home too well to need to, and the loud crashes and bangs of her father raging through the kitchen frightened her. Picking up the skirt of her dirty grey dress, Merope sped through the long grass and dodged around the throngs of trees that hid the Gaunt House from view and kept out the light, running away as fast as her feet would carry her.
Merope had nowhere else to go, she knew that, she also knew that she would have to return to the house and face her father's wrath before too long, but at that moment she didn't care, she simply had to get away. Tears still falling freely Merope could hardly see where she was going as she ran, but she didn't need to see, she knew the route so well that she could have navigated it blindfolded and she quickly reached her destination. Chest rising and falling with the effort of her laboured breathing Merope slowed to a stop, just before the tall, green hedgerow that separated her father's lands from the rest of the village. This was as close to the outside world as she was permitted to go, but there was something else, something more important that brought her here. The sunlight. Up above her, just before the trees met the hedgerow, was a gap in the leafy canopy above her, a thick ray of sunlight, larger and stronger than any of its kind around the house, shone through the gap onto the muddy ground. Slowly, almost tentatively in case her father were to see her and take offense, Merope stepped forwards, out of the shadows and into the sunlight. As soon as the golden beams touched her skin Merope's translucent eyelids fluttered shut and she stopped, holding her arms out wide she took a shaky breath and let the warmth of the sunlight wrap its self around her. She breathed easier.
This spot was her safe haven, her escape, whenever things got too bad at the house, as they frequently did, Merope would run here and hide, her father and brother never ventured this way and had yet to discover her here, though that didn't make her any less fearful that they would. Cautious, Merope opened her eyes and took a long look over her shoulder, scanning the dark, silent woodlands keenly with her eyes, minutes passed before she was satisfied that she was alone and allowed herself to sit down. Gently, Merope lowered herself to the soft earth, each comforting blade of grass carefully caressing her bruised skin and the thick mud soothing like an ointment. Hesitantly Merope pressed her fingertips lightly to her cheeks, winching and closing her eyes when a sharp pain shot through her at the contact. However, she didn't pull her hand away, keeping her fingers resting on her skin, Merope slowly traced her face upwards, inspecting it for damage, until she reached the bone under her right eye and her breath hissed out of her nose. Abruptly she pulled her hand away from the sensitivity, her yellowing eye still throbbing painfully even as it once more filled up with tears.
Feeling her own despair take hold of her, Merope looked down at herself in revulsion. Her slate coloured dress was tatty and torn in places, patched up messily here and there and hung loosely to her bony form, held in place largely by the efforts of a tightly tied apron, which had once been white but was now almost the same grotty shade as her dress. Her long black hair, which might have been beautiful under difference circumstances, hung lank and knotted around her face, too coarse and matted to do anything with. Her hair wasn't silky and fine like the women in the village's, she couldn't style it elegantly atop her head as they could, it only hung messily, its only redeeming quality being that she could hide behind it when her father or brother grew angry. As they frequently did. Thinking this, Merope glanced down at her bare arms, upon which there were fresh red handprints from where her father had painfully gripped her so that he could shake some sense into her, and from where his hold had tightened so she wouldn't run away while he struck her. Closing her blue eyes, which were striking not only because of their vivid colour, but also because they stared in opposite directions. Merope, who knew that she was no great beauty, wished with all her might that she were, for if she were beautiful then maybe someone would come and rescue her from this miserable life, from her abusive father and twisted brother, then she would be safe from their cruelty. But who would have her? She thought hopelessly, the beaten daughter of an arrogant pauper?
Giving in to her despair, though she had never possessed the will to fight it, Merope sat there, her legs pulled tight against her chest, the midday sun bearing down upon her and wept. Merope paid no mind to how long she sat there, too absorbed in weeping for the happy life she would never have, weeping that she knew too little about true happiness to even dream about, to notice the passing of time. But time did pass, the sun was crossing the sky over head and back at the Gaunt House her father had calmed down from his rage and sought solace in another bottle, sitting down to fume and await his daughters inevitable return. However, even then Merope made no move to leave or to even pull up her head from where it rested against her knees; she just sat there and sobbed until she had no tears left to cry. Silent Merope sat under the gap, knowing that she needed to go back home soon but shuddering at the very thought, so reluctant was she to return to the house and her furious father. Merope knew she had upset her father, she knew that she had done wrong, she should never have moved his chair, even though her father was a sickly man and needed to be warm, being nearer the fire would help him she had thought. But she was wrong; she could see that now, though that made her no more eager to return to face his wrath.
However, at that moment all thoughts of her father, the house and her unavoidable punishment left her in the very next instant, as a voice floated through the hedge. Merope was on her feet in a heart beat, moving so quickly that the heavy golden locket around her neck bumped against her chest, and her little heart fluttered against it.
"Whoa," the voice said, clear and silky as it drifted over the hedge, through her ears and wrapped itself tightly around her heart.
This was followed by the whinny of a house and the patter of hooves on the ground beyond the hedge, as though the house had just reared on its hind legs. Ghosting closer to the hedgerow Merope listened as there was a masculine groan, a whoosh of fabric and a thump of boots hitting the earth, Merope's heart felt as though it had stopped. He'd dismounted. He was right there, standing on the other side of the hedge, seemingly alone. Merope couldn't believe this, he always rode his horse past the house but he was rarely alone and he NEVER stopped. She pressed her hand and the side of her cheek against the cool leaves and sharp twigs, which dug into her face as she lent there, but she didn't care about that, he was here.
"What's the matter, Ameera?" the young man's voice asked soothingly and Merope closed her eyes, drinking in the crisp, melodic sound of his voice "Have you thrown a shoe?"
Opening her eyes again Merope hesitated for a moment, looking deep into the leafy hedge and seeing movement beyond as Tom walked around to check his horse's shoes. Shifting anxiously on her feet Merope bit her lip, she wanted desperately to see him, to get one more glance at him, however she was frightened and didn't want her father or brother to see and quickly glanced over her shoulder, just to make sure no one was there. Once she had convinced herself, once again, that she was completely alone Merope turned back to the hedge, gathered up all her courage and began to push aside the branches, as quickly and as quietly as she could. And there he was, Thomas Riddle, the son of Mr and Mrs Riddle who lived in the big house across the way, who owned the whole village, and who was the most beautiful man she had ever seen in her life. Her heart hovering sweetly in her chest Merope looked through the gap in the branches, only able to see the tight brown material of his ridding trousers which clung to his trim legs snugly, that was until he bent down to inspect the last hoof.
Merope gasped, no matter how many time she saw him she could not get over how handsome he was. He was lifting the horse's front left hoof, inspecting it for damage and so intent upon his work that he didn't notice the young girl watching him from the bushes. But she noticed every little thing about him. Everything from the fine ebony hair, which rested neatly upon his head and was blowing slightly in the late summers breeze, to the flash of his dark brown eyes from underneath his thick black eyelashes and half closed lids. Everything from the strong, sharp lines of his square jaw to the soft curves of his pink lips was committed perfectly to her memory in a way that she did not have the mental capability to do with most other things.
He had entranced her, completely and utterly so, he was so far away from what she knew, from the brutal pride of her papa and the sick amusement of her brother, from the shabby house they lived in and the miserable life she led. He represented all that she thought was good in the world, beauty, wealth and love, and she knew, she just knew that he would be kind to her, someone with a face as angelic as his could be nothing else. She knew he'd never hurt her like her father and brother did. He would be the first caring and tender man to come into her life, the first good thing that she had ever had. Except she never would have him, Merope knew that, people as stunning and perfect as him never ended up with someone as plain and strange as her. She had never even spoken to him either, only listened to him speak as he rode past the house, peered through the hedges at him as he walked and watched him from the second story windows. He probably didn't even know that she existed, let alone that she loved him as much as she did.
Sighing Merope felt her battered heart ache with longing and watched as Tom straightened up and released the horse's leg with an impatient sigh of his own.
"Well then," he said somewhat irritably, though Merope paid no heed to that, with his hands on his hips "it looks as though I shall have to walk you home then." He said to the horse, who had indeed thrown a shoe and wouldn't need the weight of a rider on the journey back to her stable.
Tom then took hold of the horse's reins and began to lead her back around, so that he could walk her back the way that they had come. Upset, Merope almost whispered a 'no' of protest, not wanting him to go yet. Her little heart beating against her ribcage, almost straining to get to the man who owned it now, she watched in despair as he started to walk away. However, he abruptly stopped and Merope's heart gave a little leap, she could watch him for a little while longer.
Giving an annoyed tut, Tom promptly bent down and picked something up off the dusty road, his ridding crop, which he had almost forgotten and Merope hadn't even seen him drop. Turning on the balls of his feet so that he could pick up the long instrument properly he began to wipe it down somewhat disgustedly, however once again Merope paid no mind to this, too preoccupied with the fact that he was still here, just a little way further down from her and facing the hedge. She could once again see his beautiful features and that was once again enough to make her forget that he would be leaving soon. Ridding crop sufficiently cleaned Tom Riddle made a move to get up, pressing his hands (in one of which he held the ridding crop) against his knees the young man when to push himself up again, but stopped abruptly when he saw something that almost made him fall over backwards in shock. An eye; staring out at him from behind the bush.
Merope froze, her heart stopping in her chest as Tom's gaze met with hers for the first time. However, it was not the romantic moment she might have imagined. A split second after their eyes met Merope was pushing herself away from the hedgerow and sprinting back towards the house, her pale cheeks flaming. Tom Riddle, meanwhile, was confused, he had been sure that he had seen an eye there, but now it was gone. He knew that it was possible that there had been one there; he knew that the people who owned the land beyond the hedges were all barking mad, but even still, he couldn't be sure it wasn't just his mind playing tricks. The eye had been such a startling and unnatural shade of blue, not entirely unpleasant, and he doubted that such a thing could belong on any one of the tramps who lived there. So, deciding that this was nothing but eyes playing tricks with him and that he had been out in the sun too long, Tom Riddle promptly returned to his horse and began to lead her back home so that he could have her a new shoe put on. Never again did he consciously think of the brilliant blue eye peering through the leaves, and why should he have, as the rich son of the man who owned everything in sight he had much more important things to contend with, like riding, and deciding which of the village beauties he would spend each day with. However, on many occasions the eye appeared in his dreams, often startling him awake with its vivid colour and sudden appearance, as well as the strange vibe he got from the sight of it. However, after the initial panicky moments after waking, Tom forgot about the eye and gave it no more thought.
Mortified to have been spotted, Merope kept running, moving as fast as she could from the scene of her embarrassment and wishing that she could leave behind her shame just as easily. By the time the Gaunt House came back into view Merope was breathing heavily, just as she had been when she ran away from it hours before, her cheeks were flushed with humiliation and exhaustion, and her arms were covered with fresh bruises and cuts from where she had not been paying attention to where she was running, and had banged into trees in her haste. Reaching the weed covered, stone pathway that led to the back door Merope didn't stop running until she reached the house, threw open the door and stepped inside, she was panting heavily by this point, but her laboured breaths were cut short the instant she stepped through the door. For waiting for her in the kitchen as Marvolo Gaunt, and the second her bare feet touched the cold flagstone floor, his palm connected with the side of her head.
Unprepared Merope cried out as she crashed to the floor, her dark hair falling like a curtain before her face and she peered up through it at her father, who was standing over her, one hand balled into a fist, the other gripping his wand, and his expression like thunder.
"Back then, are you?" he hissed threateningly in Parseltongue and Merope could hear her brother, Morfin, sniggering from across the kitchen "Realised you've got no where else to go, have you, you thick little squib?"
Merope cringed as her fathers voice steadily raised in volume and he lent in close to her, while her brother's laughter only grew louder and more mirthful. She held her tongue, unwilling to speak, and looked down at the floor, observing that it needed sweeping. Feeling dazed and sick from three shocking incidents in quick succession, two attacks from her father and Tom seeing her, though the former no longer came as a shock to her, she tried to zone out, to retreat into the dark recesses of her mind to protect herself from her father's abuse and forget everything. He wouldn't let her though.
"I said," he growled, still in Parseltongue as he roughly grabbed a handful of her messy hair and she cried out in pain as he pulled her up of the floor by it "are you back then? Answer me!"
"Yes, papa." She gasped quickly; her eyes screwed tight shut so that she didn't have to look at his horrible, furious face, and tears leaking out in heavy droplets.
Marvolo Gaunt looked down at his daughter in disgust, shook her violently by the hair one last time, so that clumps of her matted locks fell out in his grip, before casting her roughly back to the ground and stepping away. She whimpered.
"Yes, papa," Morfin mocked as Merope looked out from behind a cloud of tears at the two of them, propping herself up weakly on the floor.
"It is late," her father said in a cold voice, no longer looking at his daughter, but instead staring out the window at the darkening sky "prepare us our supper."
Sniffling feebly in response Merope got to her feet and stood there on shaky legs, drying her eyes as she waited for her father and brother to leave the room. Though it appeared they were not finished with her yet. Face set with sudden and reasonless fury Marvolo Gaunt promptly turned and strode across the room to his daughter, who whimpered as he approached and quickly tried to protect her head with her hands. However, as her father reached her he grabbed hold of one of the arms she was using to shield herself and roughly yanked it away from her head so that he could see her face, or more importantly, she could so the menace on his.
"And if you cannot manage even this simple task," he threatened in a low voice "I will beat you to within an inch of your life! Make no mistake girl, I will do it gladly, it is no more than filthy little squibs who waste their magic deserve!"
Not brave enough to answer but too frightened not to, Merope quickly nodded that she understood his words, and with one last look of contempt, her father dropped her arm as though it were something disgusting he had just picked up off the floor, and strode away out of the kitchen. With one last snigger from Morfin Merope was once again alone, standing where she was for a moment she let her tears continue to fall, her shoulders shaking with sobs she was terrified her father might hear, so she smothered the noise with her hands. Feeling no better but knowing she could stand and cry no longer, lest she wanted to chance her fathers rage again, Merope left the glistening tear tracks on her face and crossed the kitchen and took up the big metal cooking pot that was resting by the window. Reaching it an aching and defeated Merope rested her hands on the cooking pot as she stared up at the dirty glass of the window, which mostly hid the outside world for view.
Not content to leave that as it was Merope cautiously untied her apron and, reaching out, wiped the grimy window with the stained material. It didn't clear the dirt away completely, since the outside of the glass was mucky too, but it helped, and Merope could now see the trees though the window. Dispute that though, the young girl still felt hopeless. This is it, she thought with despair, this is my life, I will look after my father and brother until either they or I die, I shall spend my life in this house, separated from the world that I make no difference to. A slave in my own home, unloved and unwanted.
Wrapping her fingers around the heavy golden locket Merope thought of her ancestors, who she rarely considered but by her father's insistence, of Salazar Slytherin and the Peverells, all of whom had been great wizards who made a difference in the world. But Merope wasn't like them, she wasn't strong or powerful, she wasn't cunning or wise, she had no destiny, no purpose and was in love with a Muggle. She was nothing but a shame to them, or so her father said, but what young Merope didn't know as she set about making supper for her abusers, or when she lay awake that night cold and lonely, was that she was about to set a chain of events in motion that would forever change the history of her world. Though she would never know it, Merope Gaunt would soon mother the most dangerous dark wizard the world had ever known. Lord Voldermort.
Author note: There we have it, a bit of Merope musing, which I found fun and useful to write. Hopefully you enjoyed it and I would love to hear your thoughts on it. Also, if you like what you've read you might want to check out my Draco/OC fic, 'Seeing'. Thanks for reading. :)