The potion glistened as the sun's rays hit it; the characteristic mother-of-pearl sheen gleaming beautifully. Spiral shaped smoke rose above the surface, before disappearing into the cold air.
Amortentia.
So beautiful, but so dangerous. Her lips stretched into a chilling smile.
She inhaled deeply. It smelled of him. It always smelled of him.
She stirred it slowly, a faraway expression evident on her face. She had slowly stopped giving him the love potion in heavy dosages a few months ago, instead adding a drop or two into his tea when he seemed to be pulling away too much.
She didn't really want to go back to inducing him with Amortentia. It had taken a strong will and a great amount of time to taper off the dose. Giving him too much of it could result in obsessive love, and well, she wanted this to be as natural as possible.
She was sure though, that after a year of being married to her, he was bound to have fallen in love with her of his own accord by now.
"Merope!" he shouted from his study, where he was organising his business affairs. "Hurry up with the tea, woman!"
"Coming," she called back, shuddering slightly at his rough tone. The last dose is wearing off, she thought.
She poured his tea, adding the sugar and milk just as he liked it. She stared at the potion. She had brewed it with the intention of adding just a little bit more than usual to his tea today.
She struggled with her conscience. She wanted him to love her, but it was difficult knowing it was only because of a love potion.
She steeled her nerves, and taking a deep breath she picked up the tray with the tea and stepped out of the kitchen. She refused to think of the worst possible way in which he could react to her confession.
Steam rose from the pearly potion, spiralling upwards, as it lay abandoned on the counter.
"Put it here," he instructed, without so much as looking up at her. He pointed towards a small empty space on the large desk in front of him.
She quietly placed the tea cup there, picking up the tray and taking a step back. She observed him silently, taking in his handsome features.
He looked up after a while, sensing that she had not yet exited. "Is there something you need?" he asked, raising a brow pointedly.
She nodded slowly.
He made an impatient sound. "Well, what is it? Out with it! I have work to do."
She swallowed nervously, as she sat down tentatively on the edge of the chair opposite his.
"Tom," she began, twisting her fingers around nervously.
"Get straight to the point! Can't you see that I'm a busy man?"
She ignored his angry remark, continuing in the same manner as before. She had thought about this in much detail. There was no better way to tell him, and she very well couldn't keep this hidden her whole life.
"Tom, you see, I haven't been completely honest with you, and well, I just can't keep it a secret anymore."
He looked at her without expression for a moment. "Did you sleep with another man?" he finally deduced, turning back to his papers. "If that's the case, it's alright. I forgive you. Don't do it again, and make sure it doesn't get leaked. I'll be the laughing stock of the town if it does! My own wife, sleeping around with other men," he shook his head incredulously. "As it is, no one understands why I married you in the first place. Actually, neither do I at times," he said cruelly, an expression of disgust marring his beautiful face.
She bit her lip, willing the tears not to fall. She couldn't believe it - he didn't seem to care for her one bit beyond the potion's influence.
"It's not that," she said, trying her hardest to sound strong. "I- You see -"
"Well, spit it out," he snapped impatiently.
"I'm a witch," she blurted.
He stared at her blankly, before bursting out into raucous laughter. She gazed at his laughing form, his head thrown back and his eyes crinkled around the edges, his mouth upturned in the largest smile she had seen on his face for a very long time.
She let herself enjoy his rich laughter for a moment, until she realised that there was no hint of amusement in it. Rather, it was disbelieving and dismissive.
"A witch?" he smirked. "So you have a wand and you can do all sorts of spells and enchantments then?" he commented sarcastically.
She gave him a dumb nod, not knowing how else to respond.
"Show me," he demanded, his lip curled upwards in a nasty sneer.
She pulled out her wand, and silently prayed that she would be able to do it today. "Accio," she muttered nervously. Nothing happened. His sneer became more pronounced.
"Accio," she repeated, louder this time. A book from the shelf flew straight towards her, and she caught it just before it hit her.
She looked at him uncertainly, trying to gauge his reaction.
He looked at her in dumbfounded silence, unable to digest the shocking information she had just revealed, until it finally sunk in. He leapt up from his chair in a fit of rage.
"You filthy wench! You disgusting whore! You're a witch! A freak. A blasphemous creation. Stay away from me," he spat angrily, when she tried to rub his arm soothingly. "You're a deviation. You should be burned at the stake!"
She stared at him, tears welling up in her eyes. "I barely have any, I swear!" she cried. "I won't do it ever again, never! I'll snap my wand in half."
"No!" he shouted. "I am leaving this house this very instant. They all think I'm crazy for bearing with you, and it's true! I'm a fool for having married you in the first place. What filthy magic spell did you put on me? Answer me," he roared, when she didn't do anything but shake her head tearfully.
He stared at her, his chest heaving as he took in sharp breaths. "Don't come after me," he said finally, before turning on his heel and slamming the study door shut.
She stood there, tears pouring down her cheeks openly now. She was a disgrace - a failure of a witch, a failure of a wife, a failure of a woman. How could she have let this happen? It was better when he had been under her complete control. She sobbed uncontrollably, each breath coming out as a short gasp. Why, oh why, wasn't she one of the beautiful Muggle girls that Tom seemed to prefer? A girl as refined and alluring at that Cecilia girl he had preferred until last year.
The loud bang of the front door caused her to jump out of her thoughts. She pushed the curtain to the side, and peered out of the window. She could see Tom storming down the path, dragging nothing but a small trunk, presumably full of his clothes.
She fell down into the nearest armchair, crying pitifully for all that had been and all that could have been.
She took a deep breath, before banging the heavy ornate knocker against the front door. It had been almost a month since he had left her. She had spent quite some time thinking and planning her next move. This had seemed like the best option. Surely he couldn't refuse her now!
"May I help you?" a young maid inquired politely.
"Mer- Gloria," she said hastily. She didn't want to be turned away from their front door. "I'm here to see the junior Mr. Riddle."
The maid beamed. "Ah, there have been well-wishers streaming in and out since he got back a month ago. Everyone is so glad that he finally left that tramp's ugly daughter and came back to his senses," she said excitedly.
Merope smiled thinly, as she handed the maid her cloak.
"This way."
She was lead down a hallway and into a large and airy sitting room.
"Wait here. I'll announce you," the maid said, gesturing for Merope to wait outside.
"Sir, there's a Ms. Gloria here to visit you," she heard the maid say.
"Gloria?" he replied in a bewildered tone. "Don't remember her, but send her in I suppose."
"You! What are you doing here," he yelled, leaping up from the chaise, when he saw that it was her.
"Tom," she tried to maintain her composure, "Tom, I have something important to tell you."
"I don't want to hear it!" he shouted. "I told you not to follow me!"
"Master Riddle," the maid interjected timidly.
"Get out!" he roared at the maid. The poor girl jumped in fright and scurried out of the room, before he exploded again.
He turned his gaze onto her, his eyes like burning charcoals. He looked like he always had, perfect, whereas she, on the other hand, had dark bags under her eyes and her hair had become limp.
Suddenly, she realised how very different they were. They were completely opposite individuals, and they came from two extremes of society. He was handsome, rich, debonair, strong and oh so domineering. She was ugly, poor, antisocial, weak and submissive. She didn't deserve him.
"Tom," she croaked, feeling her determination and strength drain out of her suddenly. He tapped his foot impatiently. "I'm pregnant."
"What!" he let out a bark of laughter. "Do you really think I'm going to be tricked into coming back to you, simply because you claim to be pregnant?" he laughed cruelly. "You and this child can go to hell for all I care," he sneered.
"Tom, please."
"Please what? You don't have any right to ask me to support this child. Not after what you did!"
"Don't abandon him. Don't make him pay for my mistakes. Please," she sobbed, dropping down to her knees in front of him.
"Get out," he ordered with disgust.
She stumbled out, tear pouring down her cheeks. In that one moment, she regretted all her actions of the last year more than she had ever regretted them.
She sat on a chair in the kitchen, staring out of the window; waiting, waiting for him to come back to her. Days passed by, and she kept sitting, getting up only for basic necessities. The house hadn't been cleaned since that fateful day when he had left her. She had no one - no family, no friends, and now no husband. He had forced her to sign the annulment papers a week or so after she had visited him.
Her stomach progressively grew larger, and at times she would feel the baby kicking. This was mostly when she was feeling particularly dejected, and it was almost as if her little baby was trying to cheer her up. She'd smile weakly and make soothing circles on her stomach. At least there was one person who cared for her.
She had thought about killing herself many times in the past few months. After all, without Tom what reason did she have to live? But then there was her baby, who was depending on her alone. At times, she enjoyed the feeling of being wanted, needed by someone, but there were times when she just wanted to rip the baby out of her stomach and throw it away for forcing her to create a façade of a strong person.
She hoped the baby would inherit Tom's looks, Tom's personality, Tom's strength – Tom's everything, really. It would surely be doomed if it took after her in any way. She wanted it to be a boy, a little baby boy who would look exactly like her dear Tom. And when he'd grow up, she'd teach him not to break young girls' hearts, how to spot someone truly in love with him, and how to make them stay. He would be perfect. She'd call him Tom, of course, Tom Jr. He would have his father's last name, Riddle.
Tom Riddle.
No, something was missing. It was too short. He needed a middle name. Perhaps something from her own family? Her father's name perhaps. He had been a strong, driven and ambitious man too.
Tom Marvolo Riddle.
Perfect.
Her son would be perfect.
Please let me know what you thought! :)
-Sana