This is a short story about Merope and Tom Riddle, from when he was under her spell till the birth of their child. Read and Review :)

Fabrication

"Merope?"

I heard the voice drift in from the living room of our small house. Looking up I saw Tom leaning up against the door frame, watching me as I stirred the cauldron. His eyes were soft and his lips slightly parted. It still made me blush the way he managed to twist my heart with a simple look on his beautiful face. His black hair, though slightly greasy now, fell around his face in gentle waves and his eyes were dark and framed by his long lashes.

Salazar, how I loved this man.

"Yes Tom love?" I replied with a soppy smile as he walked towards me, I chuckled as he wrapped his arms around me from behind.

"Tell me again about our son" he whispered into my ear as he kissed the tip in a way that made me melt.

I knew I should have been watching the potion, if I didn't add the second batch of peppermint within a few minutes it would become impotent and I would have to start over again. This wasn't an option as the ingredients were expensive and Tom's wage wasn't large. I bit my lip and rested my head against his firm chest as I continued to stir.

"Our son will be called Tom Marvolo Riddle, just like you but with my father's name in the middle." I owned him something, that man I called father, he would come to see the good of this relationship, eventually "He will be a wizard who will go out into the world and do incredible things. You and I will raise him to see the strength of love and how... and how wizards and muggles are not so different. He will look just like you-"

"No" Tom cut in with a kiss to my head "He will look just like you, for you are the most beautiful person in the world"

I blushed in the sweet smelling fumes of the potion. I knew, deep inside, that it was just the potion that made him think that but sometimes it was just so hard to believe...

"I love you Merope" he whispered into my head and his hands rubbed circles into my belly, where our child lay. Our child.

He turned me around and the ladle fell to the floor with a clash. I didn't care. His dark eyes met mine and his lips, soft, pressed tightly to my own. I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him closer and I felt his hands, on my thighs, push me onto the kitchen table. The potion was hissing behind me and I stared deep into those eyes which were so filled with care and love. The way he looked at me, it seemed to touch my soul and I felt it in my heart. This was real; you couldn't make this, force this, it had to be real.

"I love you so much" He breathed, eyes fixated on mine.

This had to be real.

The potion sizzled behind me and I knew that if I didn't act fast then it would be ruined.

But did he need it? My father always said that if you wanted something you had to do it yourself. It wasn't like I was forcing anything on him because it was him feeling the way he was. The potion didn't make love… it merely opened that emotion from the caves in his mind. I was just nudging a feeling he was already capable of into the lime light. Maybe… if I stopped giving him it then the emotion would stay. Looking into his eyes now… how could I say that that emotion wasn't real?

He loved me.

He loved me.

He loved me.

"Merope" his voice was husky, concerned but lusty, he lent in a nibbled my collar bone and I gasped.

He was mine, he was beautiful and with him so was I. He saw me for me, I know it, how could that disappear? Emotions and personality were the results of experience, he had grown to love me that couldn't vanish. I was the perfect wife, I cooked, kept him warm at night, I loved him and cleaned his home. I did more for him than I ever did back home and around him I was a proper witch.

Anyway, I carried the Riddle heir, that was important. Bloodlines were important.

If father could see me now he'd never say I wasn't a capable witch. When he got back he would see how I looked like a respectable woman now. When he got back he would find a grandchild, a continuation of our line. Just because the last name had changed didn't make my son any less half a Gaunt. We'd used to be Peverell once, we used to be Slytherin. This was just another small change of name. It wasn't the name that was important, it was the blood.

Father used to say muggles were filth but this man was so much more beautiful than me or him or my ignorant brother. They didn't understand the power of love. What did it matter to them who carried on our line? My son would be a wizard, he would be the best. So what if his father wasn't a wizard?

A pop sounded from behind me and I knew, I knew that the potion was useless now. I also knew I wasn't going to make it again as my husband led me away to our small bedroom.