Quidditch League | Season 9 | Holyhead Harpies | Round Three | Chaser One

Word Count: 1099

A/N: Thank you to my teammates, MissyAndTheDocs and MisguidedPenguin, for beta reading.

Prompt: The Picture of Dorian Grey by Oscar Wilde: Write about someone whose beauty is only skin-deep.

Additional Prompts: Nighttime; Whisper; "You're better than this."

Only In My Memory

Darkness.

All around her, there was darkness.

Merope blinked to adjust her eyes to the lack of light. Her fingers stretched out to feel for Tom in bed next to her, but all she found was empty space against cold sheets.

She could tell it was late without looking outside. She could feel the time, much like one would feel an emotion. She knew it was midnight, and that Tom should be in bed with her, but he wasn't.

Her first thought was the potion. Of course it had to be the cause. This was the first night they'd spent together since, and she had been so certain it wouldn't change a thing. But Merope Riddle née Gaunt had been wrong, and she realized this with a start, almost as if she'd been dunked in a pool of water and brought back to reality.

Merope slid out of bed, giving a little shiver as her bare feet met the freezing floorboards. Her nightgown pooled around her, and her dark hair fell in waves down her back. As she moved, she rested a pale hand on her stomach, where she'd learned only days ago that a new life was growing. Her and Tom's first child. Maybe she'd name it after him, as a sign of her love. Maybe that'd convince him to stay with her, even as their love burned to nothing.

Oh, she hoped it wouldn't do that.

But she knew it would.

For the love she and Tom Riddle shared meant nothing. It'd been caused by a love potion, brewed by Merope's own hand, and could be undone. Unlike true love, their love didn't last forever, and a family built on magic was not something Merope wanted for her unborn child. So that was why she'd stopped giving Tom the potion.

Of course, there was still the question of whether or not her baby would possess magical abilities. Tom was a Muggle, and Merope was a witch, so there was a fair chance of either happening. Merope knew she'd have to come clean to Tom at some point, revealing both the pregnancy and her magical upbringing, but she just couldn't bring herself to do it. It wasn't that she was too scared, per se; more like she was unsure about how Tom would take it. Would he leave her? Merope couldn't risk her baby lacking a father, not in a million years.

As she approached the back door of their home, she remembered that it wasn't really their home. It was Tom's, and Tom's alone, bought with his money and his status. Merope owned nothing anymore. Could she really survive on her own, and with a newborn baby?

No, she decided. She couldn't. So she'd have to do everything in her power to keep her relationship with Tom strong, even if it meant dropping to her knees and begging to stay, for both her sake and the baby's.

The night was colder than she'd expected. Now Merope wished she'd brought a shawl with her, but she reckoned she wouldn't be out for long, so she didn't go back into the house to get one. Being cold for a little while wasn't the worst thing in the world. Besides, she couldn't focus on that now, not when she had to talk to Tom.

She sat down beside him, silently at first, before she realized she'd have to make the first move. She took a deep breath.

"Why've you come out here?"

Was that her voice she heard? It didn't sound like her voice. More like a toddler's.

Tom, without taking his eyes off a single, white flower in their garden, answered in an even quieter voice than Merope had used.

"Because I know who you are. What you've done to me. And I couldn't just lie there."

Merope swallowed, trying to resist the urge to dash back into the house and sob on her bed. His voice was harsh. She'd never heard him talk to her so harshly as he did now.

How can that tone come out of somebody so handsome? Someone so hopelessly romantic?

But then she remembered he was only ever romantic when he was under the spell. Her spell.

"Come back to bed," she begged him, trying in vain to hide the desperation in her voice. He glanced up at her for a brief moment, but then turned away once more.

"I don't love you, Merope. Never have. And besides, I could never love a witch. So I'm leaving."

Merope covered her mouth with her hand, keeping the tears at bay. She'd suspected this would happen. Yet she'd hoped otherwise. Why?

"Tom, you can't go."

He looked at her. "I can leave any time I want to. You don't own me. You're just a worthless, lovesick little wrench who without my money—money you stole from me—would be living in the streets. A poor, ugly begger."

His words were like a knife to the heart for Merope, who hung her head for reasons she couldn't explain. Did she feel ashamed? Hurt? Merope had no clue. She was never good at reading the feelings of others, let alone her own.

"Tom, I'm pregnant."

Her voice was no more than a whisper, she wasn't even sure if Tom heard it. But he was gaping at her when she raised her head. Something flashed in his eyes, something that reminded Merope of fire.

"How do you know it's mine? For all I know you could have multiple men wrapped up in your little magic game."

Merope shook her head, blinking back tears. "No. I'm certain it's yours. Ours."

Tom didn't say anything for a few moments, but when he did, Merope wished he hadn't.

"Good luck then. Maybe someday I'll meet our kid, but, then again, I don't really want to. Goodbye."

He started to get up and walk away. Merope caught his hand, her pale skin against his tan. He turned his head back to her, his handsome features clear, even in the darkness of the night.

"Please," she cried. "Don't leave me. Don't abandon your child. You're better than this, Tom, I know you are. I fell in love with a loving man, a good, loyal man, who wouldn't leave his baby."

But in his handsome eyes, all she saw was that fire. And she knew it wasn't the good kind.

"Guess I'm different when you aren't using magic on me," he said, his voice cold and unforgiving.

And then he was gone, disappearing into the night.

Merope sank to her knees in the grass and cried.