Disclaimer: Not mine, unfortunately. Or maybe fortunately, I don't know...

Chapter 6: Merope and Tom

Merope quickly strode between the trees. She was sure her father didn't know what she was doing, where she was doing it, and what she was doing it for. And she was just as convinced that had his father known he wouldn't have cared because he would have thought she couldn't manage doing it anyway.

Merope knew the woods here quite well, now. At first, when she had begun about two months ago, she hadn't known anything about her surroundings. She had just started out in a random direction that she thought led to the heart of the forest, and ended up on the main road between Great Hangleton and Little Hangleton. Next time she had gone in another direction and walked for hours through the forest, not seeing any people or signs of human activity. This time she had got lost, and ended up at her home cottage only the next morning, to come face to face with the greeting of a really worried and caring father ("Don't you understand that brainless little idiots like you shouldn't go wandering around! I'm starved!").

But that hadn't stopped her. She was used to all the insults and physical means her father would use against her, and they failed to affect her now. She had found a suitable small clearing in the middle of a thicket, and tried conjuring up a shelter there, but after some failed attempts had resorted to building one with her own hands. And this is where she came to work on her magic.

If her father said that she was a squib, then she was almost ready to concur when only spells and transfiguration where concerned. But her knowledge of herbs and potions surpassed her father's by far; probably that's why he never included those two sciences as magical. She knew that given enough time and strength she could boil up anything, even if she only had the local herbs, and maybe some odd relics of olden times she had found on the shelves at home, to use.

Now there was a firm path leading to her shelter; so many times had she walked that road that she didn't even worry about being followed. But father had now grown accustomed to her leaves, and he didn't mind as long as she left his food out on the table for him. Merope knew that this day would be the last time she would visit the shelter, for the potion was ready, and she had everything planned out.

Merope carefully scooped out the potion, filling the dozen small vials she had brought with her. She hadn't felt that happy since the day that Morfin had been taken away. With a careless thump she turned the cauldron over and let the remains of the potion soak the ground in the clearing. Then, cleaning the bottom up with a broad leaf she had found somewhere, she hid the cauldron in the thicket and returned home.

With extreme care she dressed herself in her best robe — the shabby and faded one, not the torn and bleached one she wore usually. Then she took a jug of water, and emptied one whole vial of potion into it. She watched longingly as the purplish red chords of magic slowly dissolved in the water, leaving it as transparent as it had been before. She took the silver knife she used at potion making out of the hidden pocket of her robe, and with a swift motion she cut into her hand, not even flinching at the pain.

One drop of blood ran into the jug, making the water there sizzle slightly for a moment, and then everything calmed down again. Merope took a napkin and let some more blood flow into it, until it was completely drenched. And before she could notice she was at the main road, waiting for him to come home from his afternoon ride.

And much sooner than she dared to hope she heard the sound of approaching hooves. She got ready in her hiding-place. When the rider was close to passing her she suddenly jumped out, flaying the bloody handkerchief towards them, at which the horse started to snort, and without much ado flung the rider from the saddle, just as expected.

Merope quickly hid the napkin and ran over to the man of her dreams.

"Dear lord! I'm so sorry, sir! I didn't mean to frighten your horse, sir! If there's anything I can do…" she quickly babbled, looking distort and worried.

Tom straightened up from the ground, sitting now, brushing the mud off his cloak and feeling his limbs for any injuries.

"I was just running to the road, and I didn't mean to…" Merope still continued.

Tom tired to push the importunate brute away from him and stand up, but it seemed that he had hurt his leg on the fall, so he lost his balance when standing up, and fell down again, almost grabbing hold of Merope, but realising that he didn't want to touch her a moment before he did.

Merope quickly kneeled down next to him, and brought out the jug which she had kept hidden somewhere all this time.

"Here, sir, take a sip of this, it'll help," she said, almost forcing the jug into his hands, and tilting it over his mouth so he had to swallow some. Against her expectation, though, it seemed that Mr. Riddle was rather thirsty, he drained most of the jug before thrusting it back at Merope.

For a moment more Merope saw hate and repulse in his eyes, but then it was replaced with sudden confusion, but in a second or so even that vanished, and the man looked at her with gratitude and love.

"Miss…" Tom started.

"Gaunt, Merope Gaunt," she answered, averting her eyes and blushing slightly.

Tom smiled.

"Thank you for the water. I feel much better now. And don't blame yourself; I should have been more careful when riding," he smiled and put his hand on her cheek to force her to look back at him. "Now would you, please, help me get back in the saddle, so I can return home?"

"Why do you have to return so soon?" Merope asked, trying to find out how far the tentacles of the potion reached.

"I have to return because," Tom started, and then halted, a momentary look of confusion flickering over his features. "Because I'm getting married tomorrow," he finally finished. "And you're coming with me, aren't you!"

"No, why should I?" Merope asked, this time not understanding herself what was going on.

"Because I'm getting married to you, of course!" Tom laughed, limping with her help to the horse, and leaning on it for a moment. "Aren't I?"

"No, you're not," Merope said, a tear slipping out of her eye. "You're getting married to Miss Wellby…"

"Why?" Tom asked, staring at the teardrop on her cheek. "Why am I marrying her if I love you?"

Merope didn't answer.

"Then it's decided!" Tom chirped, heaving himself on the horse with barely the strength of his hands. "I won't marry her. She's off. I'm marrying you, and tomorrow. And you're coming with me!"

He gave Merope a hand and flung her up to the saddle in front of him. Merope smiled, as she felt him take a firm hold of her, and ushering the horse into a pace. She felt the eleven bottles of potion in the inner pocket, and felt completely happy for the first time in her life. The jug lay forgotten on the lane, the blood-drenched handkerchief thrown into the hedge.

But her boundless happiness was short-lived. As she felt Tom urge the horse to a stride, the first thought of regret in forcing him to her crossed her mind. I shouldn't have put the whole vial in there, she thought, amazed at how sudden the change in her life was, and riding forward to her wedding in the arms of the only man she ever loved.

Author's note: Reviews make me happy. And in addition to that they give you the wonderful chance to suggest some pairings that you would like to read about. Like the next chapter - Dolores and Ron - which was suggested by Heptagon.