The Watchman
His hand was rested on his trolley when she strode through the barrier, her crossed eyes first blinking at the light, then the river of people, and finally the great red train pulled up alongside the platform, its swirling column of steam climbing into the sky. Papa had already begun walking towards him, but she stood still, her fingers still clutching the handle of her trunk. Merope hadn't bothered to use a trolley.
His gaze followed her as she dragged it towards the Hogwarts Express, easily darting through the crowds with her small stature. She knocked her trunk into a disapproving wizard behind her and turned around to apologize. Struggling, she lifted the trunk above her head, her mouth twisting into a grimace, as she tried to push her way to the open luggage compartment. A blond student already dressed in her black student robes tapped Merope on her shoulder. Merope shifted some of the trunk's weight to the other girl, and together, they hurled it into growing pile of baggage. Merope then leaned in, apparently to relay a word of thanks, and the two girls laughed in their shared conspiracy.
They were still laughing as they climbed into the train, stilling laughing when Papa faced him. "Have a good term, Morfin. You know what I expect of you."
Papa had spoken in English, which was not altogether new but somewhat strange. Parseltongue was usually the language of choice, and to hear Papa's voice cut into the angled and sharp inflections of the Muggles' tongue was jarring. Morfin nodded, his hands tightening on the trolley. "I know."
Papa's eyes darted towards the clock. Ten-fifty. He looked back down at his son. This time, when he spoke, it was not in English.
"Watch her," he said. "Watch her, and make sure that she doesn't stray."
-
There was barely a moment's pause between the placement of the Sorting Hat on Merope's hat and the pronouncement of "SLYTHERIN!"
Morfin smiled and applauded with his House.
-
An open textbook was balanced on her knees when Morfin approached her in the common room. She was absentmindedly chewing on the end of her quill, flipping through it.
"What're you doing?" he asked.
He followed her eyes as the scanned the width of the pages. "Charms essay. You wouldn't want to help me, would you?"
"I need to ask you something." He sat in the chair next to her, his hands clasped together. "Yesterday, I saw you walking down the hall with a Ravenclaw. I thought I recognized her. Was she the person who helped you get your trunk onto the train?"
She laughed and closed the textbook. "You mean Elinor Maritain? She's a Pureblood, Morfin. You don't need to worry about anything."
"She's a Ravenclaw, Merope. Doesn't even have the right morals to get in Slytherin, eh?"
"I don't see how it should matter," Merope retorted, folding her arms. "She's a Pureblood, isn't she? She's my friend."
"There are plenty of people you can be friends with in Slytherin."
A petulant grimace appeared on her face. Morfin remembered Papa's warning. "I don't like any of them. They won't talk to me."
"Then you won't have any friends, Merope. Better that than associating with some witch who's been in the company of filth and Mudbloods."
"I told you already, she's a Pureblood!" A flush rose in her normally pale cheeks. "And if you won't believe me, I'm going to bed."
He watched her through narrowed eyes as she snatched up her textbook and stomped off towards the girls' dormitories.
-
It was a book Papa held in high esteem and kept near his person at all times. It was also a very well known book because, when Morfin asked the librarian for it, she led him to it without a moment's hesitation. She even went so far as to pull the book out for him, and he accepted it with a smile that made her recoil.
Chuckling, he sat down at the table with Genealogy in the Wizarding World. After checking the table of contents, he flipped to the page marked with a large M. He ran his finger down the lists and smiled.
-
He remained seated at the breakfast table as most of the Great Hall left for their first class. The letter would not be long, but it had to be written. He had waited long enough to do it.
Some distance away, he observed that lying little blood traitor skipping away with someone else. That someone else had a swinging curtain of golden hair.
Yes, the letter had to be written.
-
"Why did Papa want us back for Christmas?" Merope slumped against the window of the Hogwarts Express, staring at the slowly disappearing castle. "I wanted to stay. Elinor was going to teach me how to play Gobstones."
Morfin didn't reply. He knew exactly why Papa wanted them back.
-
The girl lay sobbing on her bed, her robes hanging in shreds around her neck and shoulders. From a distance, he thought the welts on her back were frightening, scored deeply into her skin blossoming red. But they were deserved. She knew better than to lie and delude herself into believing nothing of consequence would come from it.
Merope turned her face to him as he leaned against the doorway. He thought the tears must be burning her skin just as Papa's belt had. "I hate you, Morfin."
"I can't apologize for it," he said, shaking his head.
"I hate you, and I'll always hate you. Why did you have to tell Papa? Why do you always have to tell Papa? Can't you ever let me be happy?"
Unbidden, a twinge of sympathy struck his heart. She didn't understand, did she? He approached her and knelt on the floor. Her hair was rough in his fingers, but he stroked it anyway. She needed to understand.
"Merope, I'm your brother. I love you. If I don't watch out for you, no one else will."