Disclaimer: Anything that rightfully belongs to J.K. Rowling or anyone else for that matter does not belong to me. Just in case you wanted to know...
He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not
It was one of those early spring days that often characterize London; overcast, thick fog, and a chill in the air that nothing but a good cup of tea could remedy. Everyone goes about their own business. No one lingers outside. It is the time of year that most people dread. The snow has disappeared but the cold still plagues the north and the children start desperately looking for the summer holiday. It is the period between Christmas and the start of the warm weather that make people feel miserable.
One London citizen was feeling particularly unwell as she leaned over the toilet in her small bathroom as her stomach wrenched. Indelicately, she threw up into the cracked white porcelain bowl. It was not the situation of her throwing up that made her miserable; it was the fact that she must accept what was really going on. She was not much more than a girl really. Her face showed fear and childishness. The limp blond bangs that covered her forehead added to her look of immaturity. Yes, there was no doubt that Merope was no more than a child but there was also no doubt that she was now facing a woman's issue.
Merope was pregnant. She had tried to ignore the signs at first but she could not deny it any more. What was she going to do? How was she going to tell Tom? Merope wiped her mouth and collapsed on the cold bathroom floor. She tried to think of something but she could not. Her brain was numb. Tears started flowing gently from Merope's eyes. How was she going to do this? How would she raise a child? She and Tom could barely take care of themselves. They could not care for a baby. Merope looked around the bathroom. The toilet was cracked but functional. Mold grew along the ceiling. One would think that they would get dirtier by washing in that shower. The area where the sink should have been was vacant.
Merope wiped her eyes and took a deep breath as she rose from the floor. She walked into the kitchen, grabbed a kettle of water and put it on the ancient stove. As she stood by the it waiting for the water to boil, a horrible but relieving thought came to her. She did not have to keep the baby; she could put it up for adoption. An even more wretched idea entered Merope's mind. She did not have to deliver the baby at all. Merope stood still. The kettle let out a high pitched scream but she ignored it. Merope was half stunned that the thought had come to her and half thrilled with the idea. She could abort the baby. Kill the child that she and Tom had made together? The thought made her gasp. What if he grew up to be just like Tom? So handsome, tall with dark brown hair. A child that would make her feel as special as her husband did.
Merope glanced up at the clock. It was almost half past eleven. She let out a little gasp. Where had the morning gone? She was expecting Tom home from work as it was nearly time for him to take his potion. Impulsively, Merope's hands opened the cupboard and began to grab the ingredients for a love potion. She knew where everything was by heart. Merope stopped suddenly. Did she really want her husband to be under the influence of a love potion when she told him about the baby? Surely after all of this time he truly loved her. He had to. Suddenly furious, Merope let out a roar as if she was a mother bear trying to protect her young. She pushed a bunch of the vials out of the cupboard. They fell to the floor and shattered. She let out another frightening cry and did it again. Merope took the last of the potions in her arms. Her fury turned into tears and she slumped against the old, cracked countertop. Breathing heavily, Merope picked up a vial and dropped it to the floor.
He loves me.
Another delicate vial broke on the hard surface.
He loves me not.
Blood of bat spilled on the floor.
He loves me.
Extract of buzzle root burned through the cheap linoleum.
He loves me not.
The second to last vial dropped.
He loves me.
Merope stared at the pieces of broken glass. They were tiny teardrops. As the sun reflected off of them, the pieces acted as a prism and projected a hopeful rainbow of colors. Merope had no reason to hope but she did. In her fist she held the last vial, the antidote to the love potion.
It was only a matter of minutes before a handsome man entered. He was obviously in the prime of his life. His pale skin was smooth and unflawed. Combed brown hair and a pair of brown dress pants added to his distinguished appearance. His wife, on the contrary, looked like a street beggar. Merope wore an old, worn pink dress. Her hair was tangled and dull. Many of the neighbors were very curious as to how the two opposites ended up together. However, none of them would dare to approach Merope and her husband got very upset when anyone spoke critically of her. It was something they could never understand so they mostly avoided the Riddle family altogether.
"Merope?" Tom Riddle asked as he stepped through the main hall and peeked into the living room. "Mer? Honey?"
She sat on an old couch. A faded pattern of flowers climbed behind her. It took her a moment to respond. "Tom, dear?"
"How was your day so far?" He glanced around. "No tea today?" Tom got a better look at his sullen, unresponsive wife. "Merope, are you okay?"
She did not look at him. "It is on the counter." Merope could not bear to look as her lover sipped from the tea mixed with the potion the would end the only good thing that had ever happened to her. The clock struck twelve.
Dong.
I'm going to do this.
Dong.
I have to do this.
Dong.
The other potions are gone.
Dong.
I have no choice.
Dong.
He will still love me.
Dong.
After all of this time, he just has to.
Dong.
We are committed to each other.
Dong.
We have proven that, magic will not change it.
Dong.
It changed things before, did it not?
Dong.
He would stay for the baby.
Dong.
Nothing will change.
Dong.
Tom will love me forever.
Merope slowly turned her eyes to meet Tom's. The look of unconditional love had disappeared. It was replaced by one of confusion. "Tom, there is something that I need to tell you," Merope started, her voice shaking.
"There damn well is. What the hell is going on here?" Tom ran to the couch. He pulled Merope to her feet and shook her vigorously. "Tell me what you did to me, you witch!" He pushed her back.
Merope sunk to the floor at Tom's feet. "I just wanted you to love me." Merope cried as she spoke.
"I would never love the ugly daughter of a tramp." Tom turned to leave. "I never want to hear from you again." Tom opened the front door.
"Tom!" Merope cried out desperately. Tom stopped, his jaw clenched. "I'm pregnant. I'm going to have your baby. Our baby." Merope's tear streaked face had no effect upon the hardened man, for he did not see it. Without looking back, Tom walked out of the rundown home that he had made a sanctuary for a young girl. The only person who had ever made Merope feel loved had left her life forever.