Oh Hold: Merope (a Harry Potter fanfic)

Chapter 3

All characters, places, and dialogue so far belongs to the incredibly talented and heartless, J.K. Rowling. Anyone reading this think I'm J.K. Rowling? Cause I'm not. K, on with the story...

"And so what if he did, then?" Father asked defiantly. "I expect you've wiped the muggle's filthy face clean for him, and his memory to boot-"

"That's hardly the point, is it, Mr. Gaunt?" Bob said. "This was an unprovoked attack on a defenseless-"

"Ar, I had you marked out as a muggle-lover the moment I saw you." Father interrupted with a sneer, as he spit at bob's feet again.

"This discussion is getting us nowhere" the ministry man said firmly. "It is clear from your son's attitude that he feels no remorse for his actions." He looked down again at the parchment in his hand. "Morfin will attend a hearing on the fourteenth of September to answer the charges of using magic in front of a Muggle and causing harm and distress to that same Mugg-"

He stopped talking as the sounds of horses clopping along and loud, joyous laughter drifted in through the open window. I felt my heart speed up and butterflies swoop in my stomach as I recognized the voices. It was Tom, handsome, perfect Tom Riddle, Muggle Tom, who I was helplessly in love with, and his hideous girlfriend Cecilia.

Out of the corner of my eyes I saw father tense up, his eyes wide, and heard Morfin hiss ever so slightly, but I was too intent upon hearing Tom's magnificent voice to care much.

"My God, what an eyesore! Couldn't your father have that hovel cleared away, Tom?" Cecilia asked. Oh how I envied her. I would give anything to be in her place, riding horses with Tom, although it's not like I have anything much to give.

"It's not ours." Tom said, and I relished the sound of his voice, being so near him. "Everything on the other side of the valley belongs to us, but that cottage belongs to an old tramp called Gaunt and his children. The son's quite mad, you should hear some of the stories they tell I'm the village." At that she laughed, the clomping getting steadily closer.

Morfin made to get out of his chair, but father stopped him with a "keep your seat" in Parsletounge.

"Tom, I may be wrong, but has someone nailed a snake to the door?" Cecilia asked

"Good Lord, you're right!" Exclaimed Tom, now sounding as if he was right next to the house. "That'll be the son, I told you he's not right in the head. Don't look at it, Cecilia, darling."

Darling. He had called her darling. My blood boiled with hatred and envy for this awful girl.

The sounds of their horses grew fainter and fainter.

"Darling, Darling, he called her. So he wouldn't have you anyway." Morfin whispered in Parsletounge, echoing my thoughts. My stomach churned and I felt ready to faint.

"What's that? What did you say Morfin?" Father asked sharply, also in Parsletounge, looking back and forth between me and Morfin.

My palms started sweating, my heart dropped into my stomach. He couldn't tell father, he wouldn't! But of course he would, I thought, just as he started saying,

"She likes looking at that muggle. Always in the garden when he passes, peering through the hedge at him, isn't she? And last night-"

I shook my head, pleadingly at him, begging him not to tell father. I was so scared I couldn't breathe.

"Hanging out the window waiting for him to ride home, wasn't she?"

"Hanging out the window to look at a muggle?" father said quietly, dangerously. "Is it true? My daughter-pure blooded descendant of Salazar Slytherin-hankering after a filthy, dirt-veined Muggle?"

I opened my mouth to speak, but uncontrollable terror filled my mind and I couldn't speak. I pressed myself into the wall, shaking my head frantically, hoping against hope that he wouldn't believe Morfin.

"You disgusting little Squib, you filthy little blood traitor!" he shouted, losing control, his large hands closing around my throat.

I was trying, trying to breathe, to force air into my lungs, but within seconds I was unable to, I needed oxygen, but I couldn't get it. There were spots at the edges of my vision, black stars dancing in front of me, and my lungs still. Needed. Air. They were burning, my throat was on fire! Until suddenly, I could breathe again. I saw father trip over a chair and fall flat on his back. I wondered why he had released me: I felt sure I was going to die.

A/N thanks for reading! Votes, comments, and feedback are always appreciated!