Long Day
"Up, Gaunt. Get up!" The harsh voice did not manage to bring him out of the hazy daze that had enveloped his mind, but the kick that followed did. He cried out in pain as a boot connected his chest. He sat up and scooted back against the wall, staring blearily at the dark-haired man dressed in Auror robes who stood in front of him.
"Whatcha want?"
The Auror rolled his eyes. He took a scroll out of his pocket and unfurled it. Clearing his throat, he read out, "'On this day, May 21, 1925, Marvolo Gaunt has completed his six-month sentence by Wizengamot for the assault on Ministry officials, and is hereby free to leave the prison at his own convenience.'" The man looked at him and raised a bushy eyebrow. "It says that here, but I've got jobs to do, so get your pathetic ass up. We're leaving now."
Marvolo stood up and brushed the dust off his drab prison robes. "What about my son?"
The Auror turned and looked at him incredulously, "What about your son? He still got a two-and-a-half year sentence left."
Marvolo grunted. "Salazar Slytherin's last living descendants treated like dirt! Generations of pure-bloods—"
"I can put you back there if you want?" The Auror said, crossing his arms.
Marvolo grunted again, eyeing the wand in the Auror's hand. "Where's mine?"
"Oh, you'll get it back. Now start moving or I'll go ahead and let you rot here."
A thirty-minute boat ride and a side-along apparition later, Marvolo found himself standing on the dirt road near his house. The Auror gave him his wand, and Marvolo found it difficult to control his urge to hex the man.
As if sensing his thoughts, the Auror smirked. "One toe out of line, man, and you'll be back with the dementors."
Despite himself, Marvolo couldn't suppress the shudder that ran through his body at the mention of those creatures. All the memories their presence had dug up played in his mind. He turned, only to find the Auror was gone. Cursing, Marvolo made his way to the shack.
As he walked, Marvolo thought about things that had plagued his mind for the six horrible months he had spent in the prison, How he had blamed his daughter for his wife's death; how he and his son had treated her. She was, after all, a descendant of Salazar Slytherin. She would one day carry Morfin's child and the Gaunt heir, and she deserved to be treated like the heiress she was.
Marvolo sighed. He would have to apologise to her.
"Daughter!" he called out as the shack came in sight. For some reason, the hut seemed different to Marvolo. Abandoned. He shrugged it off and called out again.
When no one answered, he pushed his way through the weeds and reached the front door, chuckling when he saw the skeleton of the snake Morfin had pinned there. He pushed the door open.
Dust covered every inch of space inside the house. What had that girl been doing if she didn't even clean? No, Marvolo thought as he shook his head, she was an heiress. Cleaning was not her job. He would have to curse a Muggle to do that.
He took another couple of steps inside. Cobwebs hung in the corners and the hearth looked like it hadn't been lit for weeks. Abandoned — the word came to his mind again and Marvolo laughed it off.
He checked the other rooms and the backyard, but Merope was nowhere to be found. Well, she was a witch and could take care of herself. Perhaps the loneliness had got to her and she had gone out for some fun.
Marvolo himself thought a congratulatory drink was in order, now that he was out of the prison. Humming to himself, he made his way back to the town and dragged himself to the bar.
He got himself a drink and settled on a table with some other men who took no notice of him. They seemed to be talking about some town gossip.
"The squire's son ran off with the tramp's daughter, didn't he?" one of them said.
"Some say the boy was hoodwinked." This got Marvolo's attention.
"Could be. The whole family looks shady to me. Though haven't seen the old man or his son for months, have I?"
"Some sayin' the girl's a witch who worked her hoodoo magic on Riddle."
Marvolo felt his throat go dry. Surely Merope — a pure-blood descendant of Salazar Slytherin — couldn't be involved with a filthy Muggle? He turned to the man sitting by his side. "Merope ran away?"
"That's the girl's name? Yes, ran off with the Riddle boy — Tom." The man then turned to him and squinted his eyebrows. "Hang on, you're the tramp — her father!"
Marvolo got up faster than he thought was possible and walked out of the bar before the man could draw attention to him. Twisting on his heel, he apparated himself to his hut.
He landed on his feet but had to fight hard to maintain the balance. A searing pain shot up his left arm, and as he turned to look, he found a good chunk of his limb missing. Blood was flowing out of the wound, and Marvolo was feeling lightheaded. He let the gravity guide him to the ground and dragged himself until he found a wall to lean against. Merope's life played in front of her eyes. A little girl braiding a wreath of flowers. A young girl cooking food for Morfin and him. Merope at the window, looking out, seemingly lost in thoughts. Merope ducking her head every time he yelled at her for being a Squib.
A harsh chuckle escaped his lips. She had, at least, proved she was not a Squib, after all. But how could she do this — leave her family for a dirt-veined Muggle? How could his daughter be a blood-traitor?
Suddenly, the thoughts became too much. Marvolo pushed Merope out of his head. Closing his eyes, he let the blackness claim him.
Word Count: 1020
Prompts used:
From Hogwarts Assignments
• A History of Muggles — Write a story set in the 1920s.