Enchanted
I moved towards the garden, waiting and hoping my brother wouldn't notice me watching. Every so often, he would pass on horseback. Of course, he never noticed me.
And really, I shouldn't notice him. As far as I could see, he was a Muggle – no more magical than I seemed to be. Father and my brother frequently mocked me for being a Squib. I might've been able to us magic, had apparently shown signs of it as a young child, but now it seemed suppressed and unfamiliar.
It seemed to sum up my life, and I inwardly cursed my dull gray dress, my hands rough from work and my face forgettable.
He did look in the direction of our little hut and I winced at the scorn in his companion's face. I knew what they saw: a beaten-down shack, with a dead snake nailed to the door. It was the reason I didn't often venture outside. Indoors was bad enough without the extra reminders.
They were talking, the English words a bit unfamiliar to my ears and I strained to hear them. It wasn't hard to guess what they were saying. Undoubtedly he was telling her all about the crazy family who never ventured out, never mixed with their neighbours. True, it didn't matter if we did. Our poverty was such that we'd stand out anywhere, and Father believed us above all else because we were descendants of noble Slytherin.
It didn't matter to him that we were poorer than church mice. Our blood ran pure and undiluted, I'd been hearing since I was a child. We were better.
I later learned that his name was Tom Riddle. During our first conversation, his gaze on me was slightly scornful and slightly pitying. I fled home, feeling my cheeks burning. It was obvious that he was well-off, financially. The horses and clothes alone were proof enough.
I cursed my inability to do magic. I could make myself prettier, my clothes less drab if only I could do more than simple spells.
The more I learned of him, the more I came to want him. I found myself alternately envying and hating the girl I saw him with: she was so much better suited to him, and I began to wonder if this was love.
Even if it was, his family would never approve of me. Someone as wonderful as him would surely want to marry another woman with whom he could talk intelligently, who could guarantee a beautiful family. And my family would never approve of him. Father would undoubtedly be furious if I so much as thought of ruining my bloodline with someone less than pureblood wizarding ancestry.
One day, my luck changed. Father and Morfin were visited by a Ministry official for using magic on and around Muggles. Once Father attempted to kill me, they were both imprisoned.
To my delight, after they were gone I found that I was able to use magic. Upon realizing that I was not going to be punished for doing so, I began to practice all I had missed – I had not been able to go to Hogwarts.
One night after supper, I learned of a love potion. It was powerful, and yet it was preferable to the Imperius. If I managed to master it, I could win Tom. I could create a new life for myself. I could get away from the shackles of being one of the crazy Gaunts. I could have a family and money and love. And in time, maybe Tom would come to love me on his own.
The first time I administered it to him, I half expected him to know, somehow, that his new love for me was connected to the food I'd laced earlier. I held my breath, waiting in anticipation for the axe to fall. It never did.
We married not long after.