Chapter 3
Of course there isn't a problem. Quite the opposite, in fact. And in a way she wasn't quite expecting.
"My husband was muggle." Merope says, though Maricella already knew. "I used to watch him ride by my childhood home, day after day like clockwork. It was built right by a trail, you see. I used to be ever so curious. How did he stay so firmly on that creature? What was it? Why was he wearing such stiff clothing for what seemed like such fun? Could I join him?" She has a fond smile on her face, small and crooked with a snaggletooth peeking out.
Maricella hums a short low note, to show she's still listening.
"At first, his father would escort him. As we got older it was friends. Just once, luck was on my side and he was alone, and Father was deep asleep. I don't remember why. I snuck out, to see Tom, though I couldn't work up the nerve to talk." She giggles. "He thought I was a beggar! Leaned so far out his saddle he almost fell, though the great beast didn't so much as flinch. Handed me what coin he had on him. Not that I knew what they were worth for years, it was still sweet."
"Charitable, your husband was." Maricella cringes internally. Why the hell is she doing a Yoda impression while this woman talks about how she met her husband?! At least she didn't do the voice this time..
"Yes! He was always helping people, when we'd go into town. Why, if he wasn't it was rather out of character and he must not have been feeling well! Always with such a pinched expression on his face, my Tom. Wherever did that bright boyish grin go? Oh, I despair at etiquette some days, so stiff my Tom. Adamant about following those rules in public, but I knew him better, and he taught me so much I learned to put up with his ways."
"How did you end up married, then? If when you first connected you were so nervous how did you get over it?"
"A little liquid courage never did anyone harm! A mouthful nicked from the cabinets and the next thing I know Tom is smitten, wants to run away with me. I didn't understand it at first, thought he was rather close with a blonde hen that tagged along once every month or so for a year before me and Tom ran away, but who was I to say no when I already loved my Tom?"
"That's certainly an adventure."
"It certainly felt like one. We were so happy, for so long. Small wedding, it was. Courthouse, but not shotgun. We didn't lay with eachother until after we tied the knot of that I can assure you! Poor I may be but never a whore!"
Maricella nods seriously, leaning closer to match Merope, who has drawn herself up haughtily out of her slump, pointing a finger toward the sky with righteous indignence. She must have heard so much gossip. And it sounds like the love potioning did happen, for all that the woman is skirting around it. If Maricella knew nothing of the magical world like a muggle from Merope's, ah, universe? Dimension? Whatever. If Maricella knew nothing then she wouldn't be able to so much as guess at what went on.
But could it have been amortentia? Where would Merope have gotten the coin? She didn't seem to have the time to brew such a thing..
"Later on, when Tom had doubts, I figured what I'd done. I always assumed I'd marched up to him and confessed my feelings, no longer afraid of the harsh sting of rejection. For that blissful year, I really thought he'd harbored secret feelings for me and decided to act, escape his arranged marriage and take me for his own." Merope lets out a morose sigh, wiggling forward enough so that if Maricella hadn't leant back into sitting naturally, their noses would have brushed. "I followed him home, when he fled in terror. Right confused I was. Sure, I thought he'd had a flu, or nerves as little Tom was steadily on his way, but I never thought he'd run. Not from me. Not from our love. Only, it wasn't true, love that is. I'd spelled him. Fed him some sort of love potion. Father wasn't around for me to question, but I'd know that unnatural pink shade anywhere. There, just behind the liquor I'd nicked. No false panel or concealment charm, just readily available. I found where any money Father didn't put toward liquor and cigars went. Tens of them, perfectly preserved and oh so life shattering. My poor Tom! He cried bewitchment to anyone who would listen, said some right awful things about me in an attempt to get the townsfolk and his family to believe he hadn't gone 'round the bend. He didn't need the looney bin, my Tom, but still he thought I was the root of all evil. Never said anything about little Tom. Merlin knows why. Oh, my Tom..." Merope's lip wobbles with her unsteady emotions.
Reluctantly, Maricella offers a hug. It feels like the right thing to do, for all this woman just admitted to her most heinous act, it just.
Feels right.
Merope all but leaps into her arms, and all Maricella feels is the woman's face buried in her neck and arms about to crush her ribs.
A blinding flash of light.
The world goes mad spinning round and round and at some point she thinks she sees someone standing in her periphery, before the shape morphs into thousands of unblinking eyes and she feels her very soul stretch and-
Memories run across her vision, voices and the honk of a horn, the faint beep of a machine steady like a heartbeat. Sobbing. The cry of a baby. The clopping of hooves. The hum of cities full of life.
And then.
Something unprecedented.