Rating:
PG
House:
Astronomy Tower
Ships:
Other Canon Witch/Other Canon Male Muggle
Characters:
Other Canon Witch
Genres:
Romance
Era:
1850-1940
Spoilers:
Half-Blood Prince
Stats:
Published: 07/27/2007
Updated: 07/27/2007
Words: 3,504
Chapters: 1
Hits: 248

Your Every Wish

Elissy

Story Summary:
Falling into his arms, stumbling into his love, was her desire, her wish. Merope Gaunt had watched Tom Riddle for what seemed an eternity, each glance at him a skip in her heartbeat. After a meeting one rainy day, she realizes that what she desires might be just out of reach...

Chapter 01

Posted:
07/27/2007
Hits:
248

Author's Note: I owe an astronomical thank-you to Mari/Pheonixflame for beta-ing this and doing an amazing job. So thank you, Mari, I couldn't have done anything without you. :-)

Everyone loves reviews, so remember to let me know what you think. Thanks for taking the time to read!


Your Every Wish

"You foolish girl! Get back to work this instant," Marvolo Gaunt hissed, his harsh voice grating against the calm afternoon air, which was only interrupted by the clicking of a horse's hooves. "You should be thankful that I haven't killed that filthy Muggle by now!"

Merope Gaunt gulped, feeling slightly and suddenly shaky. Her palms, dirty and water-logged, had become clammy; her breath quickened to meet her pounding pulse as she averted her eyes from her shabby home's cracked window. She said nothing while crossing to the other side of the small room. Yet moving away her eyes created a louder distraction, as she couldn't help but hear him coming closer.

"And you said that actual people live in that excuse for a home?" A sneering voice traveled through the crisp breeze, carrying into an open window.

"I'm afraid so," a softer, male voice replied solidly.

Merope refrained from sighing and allowed herself to wander away in a delightful daydream concerning the only one perfect in her eyes; as she did, Tom Riddle's deep black hair and smiling eyes idly passed before her thoughts.

Shining an iron skillet with a soggy dishtowel, she realized that she was doing no good, as each movement of her hand smudged the now spotty pan. Tom's friend had been right to scoff: The House of Gaunt truly wasn't in any livable or acceptable condition.

The sudden pound of a window thumping closed stole her attention upwards, causing her lank and stringy hair to whip around her face when she looked. A stern and bold glare from Marvolo caused Merope to stifle a sniff of sadness while she looked back down, hiding her eyes away.

"It truly would be a pity, should anything continue to distract you so severely from your duties, Merope... Something dreadful could easily happen to that distraction to ensure that it doesn't happen again."

Merope stared disbelievingly, blinking. He's threatening me?

"Now you don't have to be so harsh, Father," Morfin defended placidly, a hint of something mocking disguised in his tone. There then was a pause. "Death would be the least of the Muggle's worries... after we had a little bit of fun with him."

"I-- no," Merope begged timidly, setting down the skillet with a clank. "You wouldn't..."

"Let's just hope that there won't be any further disruption, Merope." Marvolo's eyes dared dangerously before he added, "For both of your sakes."

"Yes, Father." She turned away again, glassy tears growing larger in her hallow eyes. The clipping of hooves and the faint mumble of voices still reached her ears, but she brushed away the thought. Just as she had, Merope swatted a clambering spider on her windowsill, sighing with defeat. Everything was falling apart, as well as her own home.

The devotion for the one who could care less sparkled in her eyes, under her tears. Sadly, she watched the form of her love shrink smaller into the distance. Merope felt beyond hopeless. The young man was normally surrounded by companions, she knew; and that wasn't to mention the one interest of his love, Cecilia.

But she's not a witch. I could make short work of her. Merope instantly groaned at the thought seconds after she had heard it, walking from the kitchen and leaving her brother, father, and the sight of the sunset behind her.

What disgusted her most was not the simple fact that there was someone filling the Muggle's heart, but the fact that she, Merope, hated the other so. A stumbling block in her path, an obstacle to bypass... the girl was hardly a hindrance when facing the heir of Salazar Slytherin. But a pinch of conviction for knowing this hurt. She realized with a repressed weep that she was no different from her family. Yet her heart and passion were her only determining forces.

Do I love him? Am I really willing to do whatever it takes for his love to be mine?

When she heard her father's echoing threat in her own mind, she knew her own answer. Even with the dangerous storm she recognized, her heart wouldn't allow any other answer.

Yes.

---

"You," a voice grunted, "here. Now." Closing the cover of her worn journal, Merope obeyed after reading her words once more.

Love is patient. Love understands. Love will set you free. Love does not judge. Love consumes. Love desires.

Walking towards Marvolo, her thoughts were anywhere but with her. I'm patient. I understand. Tom could set me free. I don't judge. Tom consumes me. I desire.

The look on her father's face didn't look pleasant when she spied him while she apprehensively stepped forward.

"We're out of flour," Marvolo barked. "Walk to the market and fetch some." He paused when she opened her mouth to reply. Yet her words were never spoken. "Save your rebuttals, you filthy Squib. Go. Now."

As Merope silently strode away, the young woman dared not turn her eyes back. The walk to Great Hangleton wasn't necessarily horrible; in her eyes, the moment of solitude would do her well. For a moment, she was hopeful and happy. But when she stopped to open the door, all positive expectations were gone.

The force that gusted through it could have easily detached it from its almost non-existent hinges, Merope was sure. The lightning crashing in the distant was looming nearer by the passing second, and the close roars and growls of thunder spoke louder. The sky was dark; the rain dripping roughly from the murky clouds beat heavily on her face, even though she had only stepped out a few feet. Danger was eminent, should she even consider venturing further into the storm.

"But Father?"

"Not a word, Merope! Are you frightened by simple water droplets? Fearing rain and water as witches of a mythical sense... how despicable. Surely you won't melt!"

"But the storm--" A crash of thunder cut her words nearly in half.

"Do not be foolish," Marvolo spat. "Hurry along now, before it gets too late."

She faced the storm again. Slowly opening the door for a second time, she breathed in deeply, as if she would have to swim to Great Hangleton underwater. From the looks of the sickly sky, the image didn't seem that far away.

---

Merope had traveled for what seemed like hours. The stinging rain was cold; even though she could not see it, she assumed that the evening sun had fully set. Night would approach soon, and she knew that she wouldn't likely be home before then.

If I can even call it home, she thought as she brushed her wet hair clear of her eyes. She crossed her arms and tried to see forward, but the dirt path on which she was walking had congealed into mud, and the sheet of water before her obstructed her sight. Her wet robes felt thick and heavy against her skin, and the thunder crashed louder.

Suddenly, there was another disturbance, different from the storm's rages. The clicking, followed by a gallop came closer. Someone was trotting nearer. Not even bothering to look behind her (Not that I'd be able to see much anyway, she thought), Merope bolted into a run, splashing through several deep puddles. The person followed in pursuit, quicker as well. Now, shouts of a voice only added terror. Here she was, entirely alone and unprotected, in the middle of absolutely nowhere. Still jogging forward, she lost her breath as the chilled air filled into her throat. She gasped. No air came. After several labored coughs, she stopped and clutched her sides in pain. She simply couldn't run anymore. Her sides pinched and stitched with agony; she hated herself for giving into human weakness so easily.

This is it, Merope thought, defeated; for the other had stopped. They were now slowly walking forward, towards her, the squish of their shoes sticking in the mud. Over the other sounds, she could hardly hear them speaking. Something knowing whispered to her, Don't run, and she didn't, but instead waited for something. Anything.

"Excuse me?"

She stumbled forward, coughing again.

"Are you quite alright?"

Ha-- classic. That's what they all say to catch you off-guard. He can't fool me; I'm too smart to fall into that excuse.

"Ma'am?" Merope felt a shaky hand make contact with her shoulder, squeezing slightly. Turning a few inches to see who the mysterious person was, she started brusquely, "I'd appreciate it if you would--" But her voice refused to speak a sound when she saw the young man she knew so well. The rain dripped onto his handsome face, caressing his skin gently.

"There's no reason a lady such as yourself should have to travel in a storm such as this," he said. "Come with me. You can travel in my carriage to the city until this storm is finished."

He gestured for her to follow in front of him before stopping.

"I can't," Merope defended, although she knew that she couldn't care less. "It's... not proper."

"Miss," Tom started with a chuckle, "what isn't proper is that a young lady such as yourself is being blown about in this storm." A bolt of lightning snapped overhead, briefly setting the evening black sky alight. "Now please, I insist, for your safety."

Something in the back of her mind protested fleetingly, but her heart decided her choice without any hesitation.

But what will people say? What will they think? Splashing forward to him, Merope could only hear her own words: Love doesn't judge.

Tom had soon helped her into the carriage, then cracked a whip over the horse's dripping back. Merope shivered at the sudden gust on her face, but couldn't be more thankful for the shelter over her. Many moments of silence passed idly by, and awkwardly, Merope eyed him, wondering if she should speak. She never had to decide; the young man turned to her, looking genuinely concerned.

"Is there a reason why you're braving this storm?"

She could only stare at him, disbelieving but trying to hide her giddy smile at the same time. Snapping her out of the reverie was a lightning's strike, and she shook her head; her wet hair cascaded several drops as she moved her head.

"S-sorry?" she replied meekly. "Wh-what?"

"I asked you why you were walking in this storm," he replied, never taking his eyes off the muddy road. "And especially at night..."

"I--" Because my father commanded me to come here. "I just wanted to," she unconvincingly lied.

He looked at her hesitantly, giving a terse nod. "The sky is beautiful this time of year. It's understandable that one would want to enjoy the crisp air."

"I--" She was at a loss for words but eventually decided on, "Yes. It is."

"It's such a pity. The sky truly is a vision at sunset. But these storm clouds" --he gestured-- "block out its rays."

Shivering, Merope was overjoyed to listen. Crossing her arms over her saturated clothes, she felt her teeth begin to chatter and click together. Yet apparently, he didn't notice.

"Whereabouts are you headed? Great Hangleton?"

Still shaking gently, she nodded and mutely mumbled, "Yes."

"It isn't too far," he replied, his voice stable. As he turned to her with a compassionate smile, he cocked his head. "Are you okay? You look frozen."

Grateful for his noting of this, she slightly stopped from shivering and weakly grinned. "It's quite cold."

"Take this," he said suddenly, offering a warm-looking brown jacket, "until we get into town."

"No," she objected, inching away. "That's quite alright."

"Please," he defended, still proffering it towards her.

"I couldn't," she muttered. "No, thank you."

"Yes."

"I'm fine."

"You're freezing."

"I can't."

"I insist."

And that was that. Feeling ridiculous for arguing over such a petty occurrence, Merope reached slowly into the air for it. A second before she had grasped it, she felt something warm graze across her hand, his skin. Flinching backwards on impulse, she stared into his beautiful eyes and offered a shaky thank you. He smiled weakly, looking away once more.

After she had slid her wet arms into the sleeves, Merope was wrapped in warmth. Despite the wind, the lining of the soft brown material still held body heat inside it, his body heat. The sweet aroma of pine and rain mixed with his naturally sweet scent, resulting in a forceful flutter of her stomach. Enclosing his jacket around her more tightly, she closed her eyes and felt safe. Completely safe.

The evening passed by slowly, luxuriously. Merope dreaded leaving his company more than anything. Her feelings had been so hidden before... not to herself, but to the world. She had tucked them away, hidden them at the bottom of her ocean. But in his presence, they came back, gushing and twirling forward in the shape of strengthening waves, beating the beach's warm sand.

My heart is the wave; I'm the sand. Whatever my heart shapes me into, that's what I'll be. I'd do anything for him to love me.

And she didn't care. It mattered none that her family despised him. She could care less that every ounce of her conscience shouted, No! This isn't right! The fact that she couldn't replace the smile on her face with anything else spoke volumes.

I love him. Nothing else matters.

After hours that had passed too quickly, Tom was escorting her home. The storm had left them behind, and only occasional mist drops would float from the sky.

"I can't thank you enough," Merope said, once she knew they were nearing closer to her home. "Your kindness is appreciated."

"You're very welcome," replied Tom warmly. Her heart skipped a beat to see the dimples in his cheeks.

"You can drop me off here," she said, nearly protesting each of her words.

He slowed to a halt but cast a nonplussed look. "But we're nowhere near--"

"That'll be all, Tom," she finished, now standing on the ground. "Thank you." And after that, she turned her back and began to walk away, allowing the blissful moments of conversation to reel in her mind.

---

Despite the days passing, Merope couldn't smudge her constant smirk. Every moment, Tom's laugh raced through her mind. Every second, she saw his beautiful eyes glancing back into hers. Every day, she longed to be near him, if only once more.

I never returned his jacket, she realized days after. But she had no intentions of returning it. Whenever she began to miss him especially, she would close the broken door to her room and envelope herself within the fabric, inhaling his smoky scent. Sunday morning was no different; after buttoning the front of it, she pulled the collar around her face like a mask, to breathe in again. Her stomach gave a giddy flutter. Suppressing a giggle of delight, Merope closed her eyes.

"Merope, Father wants to speak with-- oh." Morfin meandered into the room, suddenly smiling malevolently. As if she were the Slytherin serpent herself, Merope couldn't shed her outer skin quickly enough. She tore the jacket off so suddenly that it tore one of the sleeves slightly. But it was too late; Morfin had already seen enough.

"Interesting," was all he managed to say, rubbing his hands together knowingly. After a moment passed, he turned with a shrug. But he was gone, only walking to one place.

---

"Entertaining Muggles, Merope... I always knew you were a disgrace to this family, but this-- I thought you could fall no further in my eyes." Her head dropped low. She was indecisive over whether it was that she cared or that she didn't that was her problem.

"I have half a mind to lock you away while I rid the world of that Muggle!" he bellowed. "You're not foolish enough to have even a blink of contact with him." Marvolo stopped, searching through his own thoughts. "Then again, maybe you are."

She stood, her mouth slightly agape, her gaze fixed on the two others skulking away. With the stiff reprimand still vibrating in her ears, she turned the incident in her mind repeatedly. She could find no fault to her actions. He had offered her shelter from the storm in a carriage, nothing else! And it was even their fault that she had to battle the weather in the beginning.

Merope slammed her door with as much force as she could muster. A second after, she regretted it; the shaky hinges cracked even more, causing a board in place to crumble. It's official, she thought faithlessly. Everything is hopeless.

Click... Click... Click...

Someone was coming.

Without a second thought, she ran to the noise, only to look out her spotty window to see what she couldn't believe. Her stomach seemed to roll over; her heart jumped and the same time, and she felt weak: weak in the knees, weak without him.

But before she could beckon after him, not only did she feel weak, but unwell now, too. For the sound she heard wasn't her pleasant, melodious coo of a voice, but the recognizable grating rasp against the evening's calm.

"What in bloody's name do you think you're doing strolling by here?" None other than Marvolo Gaunt was shaking his bony finger at the approaching stranger. At this, the horse spooked, rearing up and kicking Tom to the ground.

"Tom!" Merope screamed, running to his side as quickly as she could. She didn't know how she darted as quickly as she did. As far as her memories could tell, she had been inside her room. But the next thing she could coherently remember was cradling Tom's lolling, lifeless head in her hands and supporting him in her arms.

"What did you do!" she screamed vehemently at her father. Still cradling him, a sob wracked her body. Full, hot tears flowed down her pale cheeks, only splashing lifelessly on his body. "Tom," she pleaded, weeping now. "Tom."

"Leave him. It's better this way."

"I won't."

After pulling him closer, he groggily opened his eyes. "I'm here now," she said, smiling feebly and stroking his dark hair from his face. The mad clicking of something followed, and through her blurred tears, Merope saw the form of another on a horse, panicked, trotting to them.

"Up! Get up! We have to go," said Marvolo warningly.

"I won't leave him," she bit back, enclosing her arms around Tom. "I lo--"

"Now!" With a sharp flick of his wand, he was dangling her in the air, forcing her inside the house.

"No!" She fought, but it was useless. "Tom! No-- Tom!" Before she could protest further, the door slammed; her vision of his lifeless body was obstructed.

"Do you have any idea what you could have just cost us? You'd better thank your lucky stars that he was delirious; otherwise, you could have cost me to harm him further."

Through her tears, she managed to murmur, "You're the one who spooked him."

"You're the one who has been making eyes at him. It's best that he lays, bleeding and dying in the road! Maybe then you'll let him go!" Roughly shaking her once, he snapped her out of her lament. "Stay out of sight."

She once again ran to her room and slammed the door. The same things happened: the hinges creaked sarcastically, mocking her, laughing merrily at the fact that she was stranded, helpless. The wood creaked a call of horror to the fact that she had abandoned him.

"Tom?" a well-known, frightened and worried, female's voice said. Merope didn't have to look out her window to know that Cecilia had come to his rescue.

He's fine now. She's there to take care of him. With a dissatisfied groan, she lay down on her bed and buried her face in the layers of threadbare material.

But he's not yours. He's not yours to rescue, a slippery sneer in the back of her racing mind said. If I can't have him, I don't want anyone else. Reaching to her neck, she wrapped her hand around the locket she wore. And I especially don't want this. With a firm tug, she pulled it into a lump of sliver resting messily in her palm. It was then that she spotted her notebook:

Love will set you free. More tears filled her eyes, begging to flow from her hollow windows into her fragmented soul. Repulsed by her abilities, sickened by their constant obstacle, she threw Slytherin's locket across the room.

Love won't set me free-- nothing will.

It fell, after crashing heartily into the spotty wall. And then it plummeted, the clasp barely opening to reveal a blemished frame. It was empty. There was nothing inside.