So this is the second part of what will be a four chapter story :) read and review

Realisation

I curled up on myself. I couldn't think, couldn't sleep and couldn't move.

This couldn't be happening.

This wasn't right.

Everything had been perfect; everything had been... a lie. My own stupid dreamland, sugar coated and completely false. All this time, everything, every day, every single kiss, touch and look, it had been nothing but a bubbling potion.

I saw his face (his dear, precious face that I would kiss, that I would love till the day I died) slowly contorting. I had been waiting, next to him with bated breath, for that moment. I had been waiting to see his face relax, for him to look at me and see me. Not the beautified woman of the potion but me, the real me. I had thought that perhaps he would cry, perhaps he would just laugh like he did with that Cecilia girl (with her perfect curly blond hair and unblemished skin) and tell me how silly I was for bothering with enchantments. I had thought...

His face has started off confused but I had pushed this away, confused was okay, he would turn and see me and it would all be okay. Then that confusion had morphed into shock but that too was alright, shocked was fine, he would come to his senses, he would get over shock. Then he had looked at me.

Then he had looked at me.

He had seen the girl without the potion.

The real me, he had stared straight at me and his cheeks (soft to touch, pale as alabaster) had risen in a rosy pink. His lips, which were still open in their shock, had quivered.

This is it, I had told myself. Here it comes.

Then his face had changed again.

I beat my hands on the bed we had shared. I kicked out at the duvet. I pushed my face into his side of the bed and I screamed. I screamed and thrashed and hot tears overflowed from my eyes and soaked the bed. I screeched and my throat felt a raw as my heart. I tasted blood, on my lips but I didn't care.

He face had transformed into disgust. He'd stood and gapped angrily at me and then, only then, I began to see the truth.

"Tom love?"

"Y-You, wh-wh-what the hell did you do to me! You- you-"

Words then.

I knew them, I had heard them before. I had heard them as you had ridden by our house. I had heard them when you had seen me, or father, or Morfin. You had shouted and screamed and I had crawled into the corner, awaiting the fist, the hand, the foot that was sure to come.

Hideous.

Bitch.

Tramp.

Mutant.

They cut me.

I had heard them before.

You had stood there then, staring at me, as I curled into the floor, unable to look away from your beautiful eyes. You had calmed down but the look of repugnance was still on your face. You'd run your eyes down me in repulsion, lingering on my belly.

My belly.

Our baby.

You'd looked away.

Our son.

Tom Riddle.

Your hands had clenched as you brought them to your own eyes. Your shoulders had shaken and I saw your lips press together in silent sobs. I think you'd been horrified at what you had done.

Then you'd left.

You'd gone.

You were gone and I screamed.

Six months of bliss, happiness I had never felt before. I had been beautiful. I had been loved. You hadn't hit me, or shouted at me or bit me with your words. You'd filled me with warmth and soft touched, gentleness, sweetness. Six months. Now I was ugly again, unloved again, broken and useless and pointless again.

I was so alone and cold and empty.

Our son squirmed inside me.

Our son.

Tom Riddle.