Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns these characters; I do not.
Warning: This fic has a very brief scene of abuse.
"You're getting older and older, Merope," her mother whispered to her on her sixth birthday, "I'm sure that in ten years, you'll be married."
Merope wrinkled her nose. "Married?"
"Probably to your cousin on my side, Liam," her mother predicted. "He's a good man."
"I'm sure," the girl said, but then looked up curiously. "What if I don't love him, though?"
"You will," her mother said. "If you don't, I suppose you can always leave."
"You can do that?" Merope asked, awed. "Really?"
"You aren't supposed to," her mother whispered, after looking around to make sure no one was listening. "But it's all right to bend the rules a little, sometimes, as long as it makes you happy. That's what pure-bloods do, Merope."
The next morning, Merope ran into her mother's room, only to find it empty.
She'd bent the rules, leaving behind a husband and two children. As angry as her father was, Merope knew that her mother wasn't in the wrong. It was all right to bend the rules, she'd said so.
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His confusion was fading; he was beginning to realize that she'd bewitched him somehow. She hoped that he would understand. Couldn't being madly in love with her, even under the influence of a potion, have done something to change his initial feelings towards her?
When he finally realized everything, several days after she'd taken him off of the potion, his anger was a sight to see. Cowering behind the sofa, she'd listened to him scream at her, calling her a witch and other things that were far worse. He had changed so much; he was no longer the man who would buy her a bouquet of tulips for no apparent reason, as he had done many times under the potion. He was, ironically enough, the man that she had first fallen in love with. She hadn't realized how much he'd changed for her.
He'd been acting like her father, whom she had tried to escape when running away with him. Perhaps those memories would always haunt her.
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She was six when he first began to beat her. She'd thrown a tantrum about wanting her mother, and her father had exploded.
He had rounded on her, so much fury radiating out from him that she shivered, attempting to run. But he grabbed both of her wrists, pinning her against a wall.
"You stop that," he hissed, a warning. "Now."
He kicked her, and she let out a loud howl. He then wrenched her by her hair, throwing her to the ground.
"It'll be worse next time," he promised.
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Tom hadn't physically abused her, but the words that he said wounded her heart just as much as her father's blows had wounded her body. He'd glared at her, then had stormed out.
She ran after him, shouting his name. "Tom! Please…"
He turned, and for a moment her heart lifted. "Oh, Tom," she whispered, feeling that maybe he'd changed his mind, maybe he'd decided he loved her after all. She was about to tell him that she still loved him, when she glanced into his dark eyes.
They were cold, and she noticed his smile. It was full of anger towards her, and she knew how he felt.
"Please," she called out weakly, but she knew by then it would make no difference. "Remember…"
He shook his head, and mounted his horse, riding off.
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She'd first met him when they were seven. He'd been playing with some of his friends, and she wandered up, asking if she could join them.
"No," he'd told her, with no explanation. She turned to go.
"Tom, be nice," one of his friends, a girl, chided. "Let her play, she probably doesn't have anything better to do."
"All right," he said grudgingly. "She can play. Just…only this once, okay?"
She didn't care how many times she was allowed to play, but just to be near this boy's presence was special. He exuded an air of confidence, something that she loved, as it was a trait she had lost in the past year. She had hoped her mother might come back, but she knew in her heart that Vivian Gaunt had left, hopefully to somewhere better. Perhaps she would find a husband that treated her better than her first.
"What are you playing?" she asked shyly.
He gave a snort. "If you don't know how to play this…" he sighed. "I guess we can teach you."
It was an invitation, and she took it.
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She'd found him one last time. She flew on her broomstick to the town he was staying at, and she offered to bring his wine up to his room. She mixed a love potion into the wine.
"Would you give this to Tom Riddle?" she asked a maid politely. "I forgot, I have an errand to run…"
The maid nodded. "Of course."
An hour later, she walked up the magnificently carved staircase to Tom's room. She knocked on it once, and he answered. Because he'd been on the love potion for so long, even though he hadn't took it for a while, she knew the reaction would be quick.
"Merope," he whispered, his voice dizzy with love.
It made her eyes begin to water. I came here to tell him something, not sleep with him, she told herself, but found the thought hard to accept once he smiled at her.
"I'm with child," she blurted out.
He instantly looked to her belly. "Oh! That's wonderful, Merope!"
She felt as if her heart was going to break. She wondered how different his reaction would be if his emotions weren't meddled with by magic. "I know." It was a lie, but she wanted to say it. She wanted to live out the fantasy for the last time. "It is."
He pulled her into his arms. "Come here." It was as if they'd never been apart; perhaps he forgot all about it under the effects of the potion.
It was so easy to forget it all, enclosed in the warmth and love of his arms. She turned her face up to his, wiping away her tears. "All right."
He led her to the bed, and she didn't protest. She would have one more night of the fantasy. She could afford to bend the rules, just this once.
In the early morning when he was still sleeping, she untangled herself from his arms, gave him one last kiss, and walked out of the door. No matter how much she wanted him to love her, she adored him too much to betwich him again.
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She wanted happiness more than anything at age twelve. She'd been bullied for too long, and when she saw Tom walking across the grounds, she quickly scanned the area for her father or brother. Not seeing them anywhere, she ran out the door, over to Tom.
She collided with him, and both fell over. She blushed, unable to say a word. He got up first, not bothering to offer her a hand.
"Graceful," he remarked maliciously. "Why did you come here?"
Suddenly, telling him how she felt seemed silly. "Nothing," she said, running back inside. She didn't talk to him again until she gave him the love potion.
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She had to admit that she'd hoped, irrationally, that he would come back, just as she still hoped irrationally that she would find her mother somehow. She was pregnant, and the rules that upheld both of their societies bound him to her, she thought. She was wrong. He seemed to have forgotten that his wife even existed, or perhaps he choose to forget.
She patted her belly, looking at the child that would share this world of misery with her. She would name him for the two greatest miseries that she had endured – his father and his grandfather.
"May you not turn out to be like them," she whispered to the being inside her stomach.
She would go to a Muggle orphanage to give birth. It was a stretch, but she did feel the need to bend the rules one last time, just as her mother had.
Her mother had far more luck at it.
Merope wondered where her mother was now, and if she knew somehow that her daughter was pregnant. "Mama," she whispered, "I learned it all from you."
Sighing, she hurried into the orphanage.
