Oh Hold: Merope (a Harry Potter fanfic)

Chapter one

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters, events, places, or most of the dialogue. They all belong to J.K. Rowling.

"All right, all right, all right!" Screamed father. "Come in the bleeding house then, much good it'll do you!" I was secretly pleased that father invited the mystery guest in, for I was beginning to get very curious about him, and I knew father would torment me if I went outside.

I began fiddling with the pots and pans on a shelf above my head, hoping not to draw attention to myself as the strange looking man walked in. He had a short, plump body, and wore large glasses, a frock coat, spats, and a one-piece swim suit. "M'daughter, Merope," father said as a way of explaining me. "Good Morning," the man said. I glanced quickly at my father, then went back to cooking.

"Well, Mr. Gaunt, to get straight to the point, we have reason to believe that your son, Morfin, performed magic in front of a muggle last night," Said the strange man. I get to thinking about the incident last night. Poor little muggle boy was just minding his own business, when clumsy Morfin stepped on his toes. The boy didn't say anything, but Morfin took it upon himself to "punish" him anyway.

I hear a deafening clang, and realize I dropped one of the pots.

"Pick it up!" Father bellowed, as I bent down to retrieve the pot. "That's it, grub on the floor like some filthy muggle, what's your wand for, you useless sack of muck?"

"Mr. Gaunt, please!" The man said in a shocked voice. I wonder why he seemed surprised, though. Father can be cruel sometimes, that's just the way it is, I think as I take my wand from my pocket, my hands shaking, point it at the pot and mutter 'Accio'. Much my my embarrassment, the pot shot across the floor away from me, hit the opposite wall, and cracked in two.

Morfin laughed, a long and cruel laugh as father shrieked "Mend it, you pointless lump, mend it!" I felt tears well up in my eyes but I held them in and stumbled across the room to fix the pot. Before I had even raised my wand however, the strange man lifted his own and said 'Reparo', causing the pot to fix itself instantly.

Father looked like he was about to shout at the nice man, but didn't. Instead he looked at me and said "Lucky the nice man from the ministry's here, isn't it? Perhaps he'll take you off my hands, perhaps he doesn't mind dirty squibs..."

You would have thought that after more then ten years of hearing insults like this from my father I would be used to it, that it wouldn't affect me, but no, I felt heat rise to my cheeks and tears well in my eyes.

Averting my eyes, I picked up the fallen pot and returned it to it's place on the shelf, then stood still between the grime coated window and the filthy stove, wishing for nothing more then to disappear.