Onto the new chapter where we hear from Merope for the first time and the tensions between Tom and Bella continue.
The next morning both parties were filled with thoughts of the others night; most of which were predominantly negative. After a breakfast where no one talked and little was eaten, Riddle returned to England leaving Bellatrix alone in France with Merope.
It was not too unpleasant. Bellatrix still possessed the view that she had been reduced to the appalling conditions of poverty, but at least the other woman she was forced to inhabit this house with did not bother her. Merope would only silently go about her daily duties and, without complaint, she would cook meals and do chores for Bellatrix. If Bella ever criticised her, it would only result in a dull eyed stare and perhaps an apology.
Sometimes Bella wondered if she only irked the woman just to wait and see Riddle explode when he returned to check what was occurring.
However, if boredom and a dull companionship was the only thing that she had to contend with she would have been alright.
It was not.
The entire situation ate at her.
She was realising how much she was relying on a person she continued to loathe; Tom Riddle provided her accommodation, Tom Riddle provided her with safety, Tom Riddle provided her with food, Tom Riddle provided her with clothes and Tom Riddle provided her with news from England.
Without him she was not sure what she would do. If he turned her out and made her fend for herself, she would have nothing.
The feeling of being powerless and helpless was more severe that it had ever been in her life.
Even then, she might have been alright if it was not for the other night.
Bellatrix had offered herself to him. The stupid half blood upstart should be grateful that a pureblood like herself would ever think about someone like him. Like she had done hundreds of times before, she had given him a chance for a taste of something that he was not worthy of.
He had turned her away.
He had rebuffed her attempts and called her a slut.
The insult should have meant nothing, but it did.
She should never think about him with any kind of affection, but she did.
So she was left alone in her improper thoughts about an improper man. Every day she swore she would never think about him fondly or think about how she wanted him.
She still did.
She could at least make one vow- she would not act.
Tom had at least not lied when he said he would return.
Exactly ten days after his last visit, Bella had been upstairs in the room provided to her furiously scribbling a letter to Narcissa seemingly without reason; she knew the only way she could send it was via Tom and there was no way she was in the mood to rely on him for something else.
She had left her door open for the air to drift through, but it also meant voices could trickle in too.
"Tom," she heard Merope say loudly.
The only response she heard was a softer and muffled voice, but she could still decipher who had spoken- Riddle. It was all she heard. Perhaps it was because they had spoken quieter or the door had been shut.
Glaring at her letter, a huge drop of ink splattered down the bottom of the parchment. She did not even wipe it away as she continued to write even more furiously
It was very appealing to just avoid Riddle. She had been very tempted. She might have if she was not so proud and so determined she would not be beaten by him.
As such, when she heard Merope call upstairs that dinner was ready, Bella had strode proudly into the kitchen without even a glance at him.
She did not say a word as the meal, steak and mash potatoes, was placed before her. Riddle only added a small word of thanks to his mother himself but, other than that, it was reduced to a meal filled with awkward silence.
The only time she could not help but cast a fleeting look at Riddle, she could have sworn she saw him staring at her.
The only positive Bellatrix could take from the entire experience was she had stuck by her word.
She was proud that she had mostly avoided him. If she had to swear off sex to sustain her pride she would.
It was the same motto she used the next few times he arrived.
In the next two weeks, Tom made his appearance five times. She refused to speak to him and he at least seemed to act the same way. Though, he did leave Prophet Articles and, on one occasion, even a short and sharp letter with some brief details about how their plans were progressing.
Only, on this occasion, things had been different.
The start had been the same: She had stayed upstairs until a silent dinner had progressed. However, after, the changes began.
Upstairs in her room, she had been idly charming two coat hangers to battle against each other in the air above, when there was a knock at her door. Most of her hoped it was Merope, but, when she called for the person to enter, the face of Tom Riddle was revealed.
She did not say anything.
Laying on her bed, with her knees half up pulling her transfigured nightgown to sit high on her leg and leaving her bare feet resting on the quilt, she turned her head to face him with a look of expectation. She wanted to demand why he was there. Instead, in a rare moment for her, she chose to wait.
Finally, after several moments of tense silence and lingering gazes, Tom step forward to the bed in a strange role reversal from the previous week.
Long fingered hands stretched out and one rested against the gauzy fabric of her nightgown.
She should have told him to get out just like he had done, but the slight movement had sent eruptions through her body.
Fingers slowly drew circles over the fabric steadily travelling higher and lower as Tom joined her on the bed. He did not wait for any sign of recognition vocally or by action, but crashed his lips brutally against her own as his other hand snaked up her thigh to grip the band of her underwear.
It was only then that she acted.
She was undeniably aroused with his effective teasing and a lingering attraction to him that still existed. His lips seemed to fit so well against hers, but that was not enough.
There was something deeper there.
She could not forget the other week.
Without any warning, she drove her elbow hard between his crotch.
For all Tom swore he was, he crumpled like any other man. Gasping in pain, he flinched back clutching the spot of his troubles.
"I refuse to be your toy or slut to play with Riddle," she snarled as she drew herself onto her knees and, with a hard shove, she pushed him off the bed. "Now fuck off!"
Still with his face ashen with pain, Tom had enough self preservation to find his feet and to shoot a venomous glare as he turned on his heel and left.
Her brother had used to call her a mouse. Despite not seeing the brother who had abused her in more than fifty years, that nickname had never been forgotten by her.
Probably as she knew it was still accurate.
She was a mouse. She was a mouse who ran around with her tail between her legs and who never stood up or made too much of a sound.
However, mice still had eyes and ears, so she noticed everything.
While she had not said anything to Tom, she remembered Lestrange's words the first time she arrived about the type of relationship she had with her son.
It had not given her a strong opinion of the woman.
The term floozy had come to mind more than once, especially knowing she was married and witnessing her outrageous behaviour towards her son.
He was too good for her. Her precious Tom could have anyone in the world, but he had settled for someone as vile as her.
The first time Tom had come and visited the both of them, she could not help but be a little pleased by what happened as it was obvious Tom was shunning Lestrange like he should.
Over his next few visits, he started to show Lestrange attention again. Steadily Tom had cast a few more glances at her and asked her the most subtle questions about Lestrange that she swore she would not have recognised their significance if she was not his mother.
Then, after another night, it had all gone.
He was back to shunning her and Lestrange was shunning him.
Merope knew she was missing most of the story, though it did not bother her too much as no one ever told her anything anyway.
She was at least happy Tom had stopped settling.
It was only after three months sharing her home with Lestrange that things changed yet again.