This is a short ficlet about Merope Gaunt and Tom Riddle's first date. Yes, Merope is a tad off of her rocker. Please read and then please review afterwards. Thanks.
It's Only a Paper Moon...
There was a smile on Merope Gaunt's pale face as she looked into the mirror. It was a happy, contented one, one that hadn't left her face for three days, not since Tom had proposed. It had been mid-afternoon when he had walked right up to her, eyes wide and face blank, before dropping down onto his knees and asking for her hand in marriage. She accepted, of course.
It had been the first real words he had ever spoken to her. Once or twice he had given her an, "It's not polite to stare," as he passed down the path next to her shack, or an, "Disgusting inbreeds…bathe, why don't you?"
But his proposal – that had been something; his first real words to her. He knew nothing about her, other than that she lived in the dirty shack he passed every morning.
She knew everything about him. She had been watching him for years, waiting eagerly by the window while Morfin prowled out back searching for things to torture and kill, and while her father Marvolvo got deeply intoxicated by noon. It was the highlight of her day, watching him pass on his wagon, and hoping he so much as glanced at her.
If he did, she'd sigh dreamily and her heart would grow heavier with feeling each and every time.
Merope's eyes left the reflection of her face, and the brown things traveled downward, to the pretty red dress she was wearing. It was one of those Muggle cocktail types, sleeveless and the skirt of the dress ending just above her knees. It had cost her most of her belongings.
She wanted to look pretty for her first date with Tom. They were already engaged after all, and so this would be a very special evening.
She never took her eyes off of her reflection as she reached to her side for the wooden hairbrush that had once belonged to her mother Morgana. The thing was old and splinters were sprouting out on every side, and the teeth of the brush were dirty and unwashed.
Yet as Merope took the ancient brush, the only possession she had left of her mum's, and as she began to run the thing through her tangled strands, she smiled. The brush was very pretty when Merope gazed at down at it, it was rather smooth and pink.
And through Merope's wistful eyes her hair was curled in delicate, shiny tresses, the way princesses combed their hair in the Muggle fairytale books. She didn't see the knots and tangles, and all of the dirt infested within her scalp.
She never looked prettier, she decided, with her costume jewelry, tattered gray dress, and ratty old slippers. She never looked prettier than she did now – with her fancy red Muggle dress and matching slippers, and with her precious pearls.
Satisfied, she set down the hairbrush, stepping away from the vanity and exiting her tidy bedroom. As soon as she left the vanity was gone, and the room became nothing more than the second and only other room of the shack, a disheveled room covered with straw. It had once been used as both a place to sleep and a place to urinate by her father and her brother.
She entered the dining room, which was dim, only lit by the candles on the dinner table. There Tom sat in a Muggle tuxedo, his brown hair combed and parted down the side neatly. He was smiling at her as she approached. The delicious aroma of dinner met her nostrils as it too waited on the dinner table.
"I didn't know you could cook," he said cheerfully as she took her seat. "It looks scrumptious."
She smiled. "Thank you, Tom. It wasn't very much trouble at all. I enjoy cooking for you."
"You look beautiful, Merope," he complimented in his naturally charming voice. "Breathtaking."
"Thank you, Tom. You look dashing as well. Shall we eat?"
She lifted the silver covers from the dishes, and the appetizing dinner came into view: thick, chunky meatloaf, creamy mashed potatoes, and steamed vegetables. To drink they would be having fine wine brought by Tom himself.
"What a lovely first date," Merope said, unable to stop smiling. She watched gleefully as Tom began to pour the wine.
The two began to eat, but Tom did so lifelessly his pale form could be mistaken for someone brought back from the dead. Merope looked much too excited as she made random comments to herself, comments Tom didn't answer, and she drank her water from her cracked and dirty glass as if it were wine.
"I cannot wait until we marry," Merope gushed. "It'll be the happiest ending I could ever have imagined. When you asked me to marry you the other day…it's a dream come true, it really is."
"It is for us both," Tom agreed. He flashed another dimpled grin. "Every morning on my way to the village I looked forward to passing your home. It was quite pathetic."
Merope let out a high-pitched laugh. It sounded fake and worthy of an airy, wealthy woman.
"Tom, I'm the pathetic one. I'd wait by the window each morning for you to pass. Father told me if something were ever going to happen I'd have to make it happen myself," Merope explained zealously. "I was just thinking about how right he was when you asked me to marry you. I can't wait to tell Morfin and he the news when they get back from their trip."
Tom didn't reply; his dazed eyes stared straight ahead of him, too poisoned by the love potion she had given him to think or feel other than basic needs such as to eat, to sleep, to urinate, and to be infatuated with Merope for some reason that was unknown to him.
Little did Merope know that she had given Tom seven times the recommended amount of Amortentia, the most powerful love potion ever known to wizarding kind.
She continued on about how marvelous things were as the sunset outside against a darkening sky. There were flies and other insects buzzing and zooming through the single shack window, all over them hovering over the engaged couple's plate of dinner. Some also surrounded Merope; contrary to what she was convinced, she hadn't bathed in over a week.
Merope spotted that Tom had finished the last of his canned hash, and she felt proud that he had thought her meatloaf was so scrumptious he'd finish it in mere minutes.
"Do you want some more, Tom?" she asked.
Tom nodded his head, patting his stomach twice. "No thank you, Merope. Your meatloaf's filling enough." An idea seemed to hit him, because his face brightened up. "Do you want to dance?"
Merope was taken aback. "D-Dance?" she repeated shakily. She adjusted her pearl bracelet. "Why, no one's ever asked me that before."
Tom rose from his seat and walked over to the record player, putting in their favorite record. He turned back around, holding out his hand for her to take. Merope also rose from her seat, smiling as her eyes filled with joyful tears. She took his hand, and slowly they began to dance.
Looking up into Tom's handsome, dark eyes entranced Merope, and she hardly dared believe they would be getting married the very next day. It was only their first date, and they were barely engaged, but tomorrow they would be husband and wife. She only wondered how blissful that would feel.
Tom was an excellent dancer. He twirled her around in delicate circles and she waltzed along with graceful steps. She wasn't such an awful dancer herself. She had always been full of poise, her father used to tell her lovingly.
Merope was humming a tune to herself, hoping Tom knew what it was. As she tried to waltz with his nearly limp form, she prayed he was enjoying himself. She was completely oblivious to Tom's motionlessness as she hummed along to the tune in her head…
Say, its only a paper moon
Sailing over a cardboard sea
But it wouldn't be make-believe
If you believed in me
"The sunlight's reflecting in your eyes," Tom said, his hand coming up to caress her cheek.
Merope closed her eyes, savoring the feel of his caress. Shivers ran down her bony spine.
She opened them again, looking up at him, longing for the feel of his lips pressed to hers.
Her defeated eyes, which managed to look in two different directions at the same time, tried to focus only on Tom, but they couldn't. One looked up at him and the other went left.
"I love you," Merope whispered, both of her sparkling eyes on him and only him.
Tom bent low, kissing her tenderly on the mouth, and it was like some end to a fairytale. In the background, the tune continued…
Yes, its only a canvas sky
Hanging over a muslin tree
But it wouldn't be make-believe
If you believed in me
In Merope's eyes it was the end to a fairytale, the most perfect one every told.
In reality it wasn't an ending to anything, especially not a fairytale. It was only the beginning of Merope Gaunt's lonely death and the birth of another, her and Tom's son, by the name of Tom Marvolvo Riddle.
.X. Fin .X.