"It will be a new year soon, my little one!' Merope said softly, approaching the makeshift crib. The child stopped crying and cooed, seeing his mother, and Merope smiled, her heart filling with joy at seeing his tiny face light up in happiness. "You have been a good boy, this year, haven't you?" she asked, gently lifting him up. Little Tom giggled, as if answering her question. She held him closer to her chest, rocking him slowly as she walked to the window.
"The stars are bright tonight," she told him as she looked down at the town below the hill, patting his back softly. "They're waiting for the new year too. New years, new beginnings..." her voice trailed off as she turned away from the window and back to the dingy little room. "Perhaps it will be a new beginning for us too," she said, noticing Tom had lost his smile as soon as she had lost hers. She rocked him comfortingly and went to sit on the old couch.
"Your father is not here today, little one, but he loves you very much," she said, rather suddenly. Immediately after, she wondered why she had felt the need to say it. Perhaps saying it made it feel true. She swallowed and picked up a small bundle from the mantlepiece next to her couch. They were some old letters, yellowed with time, tied together by a string.
Setting her son on one knee, she gently opened the string and began to ruffle through the papers. The smile on her face was one of nostalgia and reminiscence. "Your father wrote these to me," she told the child bouncing on her lap. He stared back at her with his large, dark brown eyes. "He loves us," she repeated again. Tom did not reply, except with a childish gurgle.
Merope smiled, and humming a little lullaby, began to rearrange the papers to tie them up. As she did so, a lock of hair fell out of one of them. She recognised it as her own. Carefully bending down to avoid hurting her son, she picked it off of the torn carpet and held it against the light. She remembered what it had been. A promise between lovers, even if one of them was under the influence of a potion. A promise that had ceased to hold any meaning, of late. She sighed, coming back to the present and continuing her song, seeing that Tom had already started to nod off.
Tom ought to be asleep, she realised. She stood up again, holding him against her, just as the large clock in the centre of the town struck twelve. Faint cheers burst out from the townspeople, heralding a new year.
Merope embraced her son closer., running er hands through his soft little curls. "Happy New Year, my dear," she whispered quietly into his small ear. He leaned towards her head in response, already half asleep, and she believed he understood.
A new year, she told herself, as she walked back to the nursery. A year with happiness ahead, she hoped, A year with love too, perhaps.
She placed her son back into the crib, careful not to wake him up, and then softly kissed his forehead.
"A perfect year for you, dear" she hummed, hoping she wasn't lying again.
Notes: For the Mother's Day Event at The Golden Snitch! Prompt: Merope Gaunt.
School: Brinwell, House: Chepi
Also for the British Literature Event! Prompts: Love letters, a lock of hair, house on a hill, new year's eve.
Also for Through the Universe Challenge. Prompt; bouncing.