Chapter 2
The day she stopped giving him the potion was the day her peaceful, guilt-ridden life went to hell.
He took the keys and the purse from the mantel with trembling hands and gazed at her in horror. "Get out!" he croaked. "Devil's spawn, get out! I’m going home, and you will not stay here.”
"But the baby!" she protested. "You won't stay for the baby?"
"It will be as unnatural as you, witch," he replied. "I hope it dies before it has a chance to pollute the world with its evil." He watched imperiously as she gathered her meager possession—some dresses she'd outgrown and the remains of her ill-advised love potion—and then dragged her roughly out the door. His grip was tight enough to bruise; the trembling of his hand caused her arm to shake.
"Tom, I love you," she pleaded. "Please, please don't leave!"
He threw her from him in disgust. She fell onto the stones of the path to the door, the impact shuddering through her sore lower back. The baby moved restlessly.
"Don't follow me," Tom said, glaring down at her where she lay sprawled helplessly. "Don't speak to me again. And don't expect me to do anything for your brat." He turned and ran, without looking back. In a detached sort of way, she noted the jerkiness of his stride. What had she done? Why would no one love her?
Every part of her ached as she stumbled awkwardly to her feet. The stones of the path cut into her palms as she pushed herself up.
Where could she go? She couldn't go home, for fear her father's sentence had concluded. She truly had no one but Tom (against his will, for he was never hers), and now he had left her. All that remained to her was an unborn babe—who kicked incessantly—that she doubted she could provide for.
Well, onward, she thought, and began to walk. Perhaps someone could use additional hired help... though who would hire her, when she was due in three months? No matter. Perhaps they would have pity on her, and take her in.
*
"Do you have a room?" Merope asked the old Muggle seamstress that came to the door at the second knock.
"Depends," the woman replied, eying her suspiciously. "Can you pay me... anything?"
"A couple pounds, and some dresses I received before I started to show." Merope gestured unnecessarily to her protruding stomach. "I could help around the house, too," she added uncertainly.
The woman smiled indulgently at this. "All right, dear. Come inside." She lifted the dresses from Merope's arms, leading her further into the house.
Enid, the seamstress, had a certain kindness Merope could not remember experiencing and therefore could not describe. She liked to think it was almost motherly, but she had no memories of her own mother to compare it to. The weeks with Enid were some of the best Merope had known.
Pity it couldn't last.
Merope ventured out one day in late October to inspect Enid's pumpkin patch. The patch was peaceful, the leaves on nearby trees charming in their browns and reds. Nothing seemed amiss with any of the pumpkins; the leaves were undisturbed by insects, and the pumpkins appeared healthy. Finished, Merope settled on a wooden bench under one of the trees, gently massaging her stomach as
the baby kicked and rolled over.
:Damn mouse:, something hissed near her foot. A black adder poked its head out of the grass, its tail twitching peevishly.
:Hello, friend,: she murmured. :Isn't it rather cold to be about?:
:A Speaker!: the adder hissed in surprise. :Have you seen any other mice? The one I was hunting got away.:
:I'm afraid not,: she replied. :A cat lives around here, though. I'm sure she's found most of the available mice.:
:I hate cats,: the adder spat, rearing impressively. :Big fur balls throwing their weight around like they rule all Creation.:
Merope giggled. So absorbed was she in her conversation with the annoyed adder that she did not hear the door open and Enid striding onto the porch. "Merope dear, do you feel up to helping start dinner? I was thinking— Good Lord! What are you doing!?"
The snake slithered away, spooked by Enid's shouting. Merope gazed at her, terrified. "I— I was only watching that snake, ma'am."
"Oh no. You were hissing at it. What are you?"
"I'm— I'm just—" The memory of Tom's fear and anger made her hesitant to continue.
"Talking to serpents is a mark of evil, girl! I will not keep sheltering you." Enid grasped her arm and led her back across the yard, through the back door, and out the front. "Good luck, dear," she said, sounding shockingly rueful. "I wish I didn't have to toss you out like this, but evil has touched you. Here's enough to get you a cab back into London proper." With that, she pushed her out the door, and closed it with a snap.
The cab ride dragged out forever, the cigar-smoking driver not saying a word other than a grudging "where to?"
"Charing Cross Road," she decided, wishing she could go somewhere, anywhere other than back into the world of her childhood. She would sell her family's locket, she decided. It was the only object of value she owned.
Merope made her way down the main thoroughfare of Knockturn Alley, shabby shop fronts on either side; past a hag selling human fingernails ("One sickle gets you a hand's worth, darlings!") and a rich Pureblood scion lecturing a group of less finely dressed wizards ("Take some pride in yourselves! Your blood is pure; your purpose is clear!" "We have hardly any magic and no money to get out of this hellhole. Sod off!" "How dare you—“) Merope suppressed a laugh as she entered the dimly lit Borgin and Burke's, the locket heavy upon her breast.
"Good day, miss. Burke, at your service," the proprietor grumbled, glancing at her briefly as he arranged several ornately carved jade skulls on a shelf.
"Good day," she replied roughly. "I have something I need to sell."
"Oh? Some supposedly valuable heirloom, I expect." Abandoning his trinkets, Burke approached her, hand extended. "Well?"
Slowly, she lifted the locket from under her dress and allowed to hang. "Merlin's beard," he whispered. "That's— That's Slytherin's locket! It's been lost for centuries!" He gazed at it hungrily.
Merope's hand clenched about the chain. "How much will you give me for it?" She did not doubt he would pay far less than it was worth, but there weren't any better options.
"Hand it over, and I can give you a better estimate," Burke said. He stretched his hand closer to her, tapping his foot impatiently. She sighed and passed it to him. Burke inspected her locket closely, tracing the emeralds making up the serpentine S, scraggly hair flopping over his forehead. "I'd say about five galleons," he mused, raising his eyes from his prize.
"Absolutely not," she snapped. "It's worth at least twenty."
"Ten, then, and that's my final offer." His lips pulled back in a sinister smirk, and Merope meekly accepted the price without any further argument.
"Pleasure doing business with you, m'dear," Burke called as Merope left his shop. She shivered in disgust and picked up her pace. Her father's face loomed in her mind's eye, spittle flying from his mouth as he shouted in apoplectic rage. "What have you done, girl! You've given away our birthright!" But the newly heavy coin purse in her hand assuaged any guilt. She needed money more than she needed a pretty locket, no matter to whom it had once belonged.
Merope walked heavily back to Diagon Alley, hunching against the wind. She heard fast-moving footsteps behind her, and turned to spot a woman close to her age, with long red hair and robes of a nicer cut than anything she'd ever owned. The woman came up to her, panting. "I'm Lily Evans, and I'm here to help."
What? To help ... her? "Why?" she asked, after an awkward silence.
"Because you need it. You can't survive your pregnancy on your own like this."
"And how would you know I'm alone?" Merope asked, attempting to suppress the wild hope that rose, unbidden.
"I can't really tell you everything," Lily replied. "But just know that I'm here for you, and I won't hurt you or turn you away."
What did she have left to lose? "All right. Do you have somewhere to stay? I intended to get a room for tonight at the Leaky Cauldron."
"I ended up here rather unexpectedly, and I've got almost nothing at the moment."
What did that matter? The ten galleons would last long enough for this strange woman to find work, surely. Who was she to turn away an altruistic fool? Lily had a pretty face. Someone was bound to hire her. "Fine, as long as you intend to find employment." She nodded. Smiling uncertainly, the two of them meandered into Diagon Alley.