Give a little time to me or burn this out/we'll play hide and seek to turn this around/all I want is the taste that your lips allow…my, my, my, my give me love - Ed Sheeran 'Give Me Love'
It's a hot summer afternoon, the heat is almost unbearable because that July just happens to be the month harboring a heat wave. It sends tendrils of it down to Little Hangleton because no where on earth is the sky such a cerulean blue, no where else is the sweet grass so green, and no where else is the dirt road so dry, leveling the dust high into the air as horses trot about.
There's a little shack, you see, just off of a steep hill overlooking the village; it's small and it's made from heavy, gray stone piled high into the air - making the little place of refuge more cylindrical than square. A little garden is in the front along with a dirty, black garret fence before it; there's a few rose bushes growing about there and a little stone well that sits coolly in the shade, avoiding the blazing heat of the burning yellow sun.
The path to the shack is just paved down earth, having been walked upon by many footsteps and has since then remained firmly plastered to good mother Gaia, afraid to raise itself for fear of another stomping. A few pieces of grass occasional stream over to it and sometimes the little zephyrs decide to sprinkle a few white daisy petals, if only for the compensation of pity.
It's because of the people who live in this strange, cylindrical shack that causes the trampled upon little pathway to be so downtrodden and weary; these folks have a tendency to march with great persistence. They have heavy footing and seem to misunderstand the word 'gentility'; they walk in and out of the shack, pounding their way atop the little walkway into town.
There's only three people who live in the 'house' though; it's an aged, wrinkled old man with a haughty and cruel face and a strong air of inbred pride around him that causes others to look twice in bewilderment. There's a younger man that lives there as well, the second resident, and he has a dirtied, frayed look about him that is similar to that of a mulch farmer. He wears ragged clothes, his hair as stringy and greasy and filthy as the grime upon his face - but he carries it all with the pride of a prince.
But it's really the third resident that little road ponders about; the third resident that causes a wave of sadness to befall it - she's just a girl and she's fairly young. Possibly just nineteen or perhaps a stretch close to twenty - she's petite, and that's really the only feminine aspect one can really tell given a quick glance of her. Her entire being suits her last name of Gaunt; she's frail and thin and dirtier than even the most avid pig wrestler. Her hair is long but as dirty as the bottom of her brother's feet; her face has less grime and smudges on it than the two males but that's not really saying much, now is it? A heavy silver locket hangs from her neck but it's the only ornament she has (other than her odd eyes, with one looking left and the other right); a sense of childlike hope surrounds her but it's nearly impossible to detect, for the blanket of defeat and despair surrounding her muffles all traces of the dreamer within.
She walks around day in and day out, sweeping the little walkway, tending to the garden, pulling water from the well. She cooks and she cleans and mends; she tries to keep the house from overheating by casting a few simple cooling charms every now and then but her hand trembles and the charm doesn't come out quite right.
Except this summer it comes out perfectly. And it's because she's all alone in that little shack and she couldn't have been happier - she cooks and cleans and mends for herself, she uses the hidden sack of gold her father and brother keep hidden behind a loose stone in their wall to buy herself a nicer dress and potions ingredients from Knockturn Alley. She buys a big cauldron and mixing handle, she buys vials and proper glass cups; she buys herself a pair of shoes (because she's never owned a pair before) and she buys herself a full and fine white bar of lavender scented soap.
She performs the Aguamenti Charm seamlessly and soaks herself throughly; she then lathers up that sweet smelling white bar of soap onto herself and scrubs and scrubs until the soap is just a stub and she can literally see the puddle of black water she's standing atop. She dries herself with a swift breeze charm, allowing the summer air to dry her malnourished body; she brushes and brushes her now clean hair until it gleams in the sunlight. She puts on her new dress - and it's a pale violet color and made of real silk (it's really the nicest thing this sad little girl has owned) and puts on her matching violet silk shoes. She feels like a fairy tale princess and she works on beauty charms from the heavy, leather book she's bought; she makes her skin rosy and her lips full and pink. She makes her eyelashes long and thick and black; she makes her fingernails uniform and she makes her teeth white.
She then makes the Amortentia love potion in the big black cauldron and waits until three PM. When she hears the trotting of the horse upon the dusty, paved road she quickly hurries out with a fine (newly bought) glass cup in her hands, filled with cool water from the well and heavily dosed with Amortentia.
Thomas Alexander Riddle road his fine, dark chestnut colored stallion with the pride of one who knew exactly where he stood upon the social scale. His handsome features striking in the sunlight and the deep, ocean blue of his eyes piercing anyone who caught his gaze; when he saw himself coming upon the run down little shack on his family's property, he couldn't help but give an inward grimace.
No doubt the dirty little monkey that was the psychotic old man's daughter would be hiding in the bushes, staring at him as he passed by. Usually Tom would be accompanied by his riding partner, Cecelia Vallehan, but she had taken ill for the day from a nasty bout of pneumonia and simply could not be accosted to be riding in such a blistering heat.
Riding closer, Tom saw from the corner of his eye no dirtied skin and stringy hair, nor did he see wild, almost startling green eyes peering up at him from the spiky bushes. He allowed a small smile to come upon his face when he saw that the house was relatively empty; just as he passed by, he was startled to feel a distinct, delightfully cool draft wafting over to him. He felt the sweat upon his neck and back dissipate instantly and he relished in the winter's cool in the midst of the summer sun; the small smile upon his face grew and he closed his eyes - never had he welcomed a breeze as much as he did now!
Taking a deep breath, Tom would swear he faintly detected the scent of lilies in the air but when he opened his eyes, he only saw drooping red roses in the tiny garden below him. Shaking himself out of his revere, Tom pulled on his reigns but stopped when he saw a figure approaching him.
Narrowing his eyes, he struggled to make out who in the world would be wearing a billowing, lavender silk dress in a rundown shack of all places. As the figure approached from the shadows, he was slightly surprised by the sight that greeted him; a girl so frail and no taller than five feet was making her way to him. Her hair was a dark, rich black hue and she had incredibly sharp and angled features; though her odd eyes looked both ways, they were framed by long and dark lashes. Her complexion, though pale, was tinted with a rosy hue and she had full, pink lips; Tom suspected that she might have been a distant visiting relative of the mad family who lived here.
But it wasn't her physical features that caused him to pause - it was the heavy glass goblet she was carrying in her hands that made him consider twice about leaving. Inside the clear glass, Tom could easily see the icy cool water - so cold it was that the glass was already beginning to drip with condensation.
He suddenly began to feel a very real thirst overtake his body and though his own mansion was just a few moments away, something about that goblet of water in the frail girl's narrow hands called out to him.
He paused as she approached, eyes averted downward.
"Would you…would you like a glass of water, sir?" She asked, her voice was respectful and he was grateful that she didn't speak in the odd hisses that the strange, filthy haired younger Gaunt male often raged in.
She raised the goblet up to him, offering Tom the water.
Giving another quick glance down at the girl, making sure she didn't share any of the abnormalities as her family did (apart from the eyes) he shrugged. Why not? She was relatively pretty and he was quite thirsty; he'd seen the freshwater well in the front of the yard, resting underneath a large oak tree and surmised that was where the water must have come from.
She wouldn't have poisoned it because she had licked a few droplets of condensation from her fingers and Tom was fairly sure she knew who he was.
He gave her a charming smile as he reached down to take the goblet from her grasp. The smell of lilies and the fresh air of the dawn hit him with full force. Without thinking twice, he gave her a nod and drank every last drop of the water.
"Thank you."
A/N: Hi everyone! I decided to post up another HP oneshot...this time dealing with Lord Voldemort's parents (haha), Merope Gaunt and Tom Riddle Sr.
I was listening to Ed Sheeran's 'Give Me Love' and thought that this song fit Merope's obsessive love for Tom Sr. to a tee so...
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