False Beliefs
[Early-December 1933]
Severus sat on the park bench in a black trench coat, a stoic expression on his face as he observed the muggles rush by, huddled in scarves and oversized coats, with snow falling and quickly accumulating on the street.
Thankfully he had applied a heating charm onto the lining of his trench coat, so he didn't have to look like a fool running around buried deep in layers of clothing.
A few months have passed since Severus first entered this era, and in all honesty, things have been progressing rather smoothly — more so than he had initially thought.
His job at the apothecary had been a bit of a slow start, as expected, with Severus mostly being in the back rooms of the apothecary brewing up stock, while Ashurn dealt with customers and actually managed the store.
But Ashurn had proven himself to be a much more knowledgeable wizard than he had initially thought, thanks to a certain incident that happened no more than the first few days into his job.
________
[June 1933]
Severus was in the back rooms of the apothecary, peacefully brewing a few batches of calming draughts.
With an expert flick of his wand, three Chamomile roots were dropped separately into their respective cauldrons. Severus’ eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he counted precisely seven seconds before dropping two separate sprigs of thyme and stirring.
“Aha!”
Severus had nearly startled, and he certainly would've if it weren't for the nature of his previous occupation. Severus held up a finger, and continued to stir each solution ten more times before placing a stasis charm on the three cauldrons.
He turned and gave the person standing at the doorway a hard look.
“Mr Ashurn, do you have a reason to watch me brew simple calming droughts when you should be managing the customers?” Severus asked, slightly irritated.
“Not at all, Snape!” Ashurn replied innocently, uncrossing his arms and stepping towards him. “Your work methods are just rather fascinating, much more interesting than attending to customers— don't worry a thing about them,” He had added, waving dismissively at Severus’ blank stare, “it’s all been taken care of.”
Severus didn’t comment on the fact that there were no sounds or signs of life coming from the other room.
Ashurn peered into one of the cauldrons, narrowing his eyes speculatively. “Oh? This is a different colour… it must be from how the chamomile roots reacted with the thyme with twelve stirs instead of eleven, no?” He adjusted his thin glasses and studied the contents of the cauldron closer.
Severus raised an eyebrow. “You have made the correct assumption,” he answered, seeing no reason not to. “The timing is crucial as well, and combined with the dozen total stirs clockwise and anticlockwise, the ingredients—”
“ —react with much more efficiency and potency, because of the different rates that they dissolve in their respective amounts and how they distribute in the mullein mint base.” Ashurn had finished off, mostly talking to himself.
He had then stood there in silence for a moment, examining the unfinished potions, before turning to Severus, nodding quickly, and rushing back out into the main store, leaving Severus standing in the brewing room in mild bewilderment.
________
Severus remembered being rather surprised that day, as he hadn’t really expected for Ashurn to have noticed how the nuanced changes he had made affected the outcome of the potion itself.
They had interacted (and even connected, although Severus wouldn’t admit it) much more frequently afterwards, with Ashurn visiting Severus in the brewing room more often to observe his brewing process, and more often than not they end up discussing advanced potion theories.
Severus didn’t really mind that Ashurn was learning, and probably recording the modified potion recipes. They were simple enough to figure out, nowhere near groundbreaking modifications (at least to him), so it was barely an issue.
Plus, thanks to his own modified potions, the apothecary, creatively named ‘Herb & Brew Apothecary’, had reached quite a bit of popularity with the people shopping in Diagon Alley. Now, after these few months, they were getting quite a number of customers and regular customers daily, which was excellent for the income revenue.
Severus could even afford his own house with how much he was earning, but strangely enough, he preferred to stay at the inn, at least for the time being. He rarely stayed indoors in the first place, with him going out for a large majority of the day.
Just as he was now, sitting out in the snow at dusk whilst watching the muggles scramble about and heading home to the safety of the warm indoors.
He wasn’t sitting there for no reason, clearly. He was waiting for Riddle to appear as he always did, for one reason or another.
Usually, he would be rather averse to admitting such a notion, but now that they had been meeting consistently for the past few months, it was hardly something he could rationalise to have some deeper meaning. It was just simply that.
Although, Severus thought as he crossed his arms and watched the snow fall, in all these months, Riddle has yet to exhibit a show of magical ability.
Severus had, of course, been keeping an eye on Riddle not only due to his… situation, but also due to the fact that his mother was a witch, thus presumably making Riddle magical as well, which made Severus a tad more cautious.
However, as far as he had seen, Riddle had not shown even a miniscule display of magical prowess.
Certainly, he had only been meeting Riddle for an hour a day at most. Yet it was still possible that Riddle genuinely did not inherit his mother’s magic.
It was slightly unfortunate, should it be true, but it was no major issue to Severus. Surprisingly, he didn’t mind interacting with Riddle, and even if he wasn't a wizard— Morgana knows the child was miles less irritating than those fools at Hogwarts.
He wasn’t sure when, but somewhere along the way he began to somewhat enjoy these meetings with Riddle.
It wasn't necessarily because Riddle was great at conversing. On the contrary, their conversations were generally driven from his end, which was strange, considering the fact that Severus was usually the person giving monosyllabic answers.
Perhaps it was because the kid felt so familiar, even from when they first met, thus why he felt less annoyed by Riddle than he usually was with other children.
Thankfully he had ensured that Riddle Senior was no longer a threat to Riddle. He definitely was not capable of managing a young child, let alone willing.
He has had enough of looking after small miscreants for nearly ten years. A four year break was definitely something he needed— regardless of how unconventional the method to attain it was.
Speaking of which, Severus thought as he narrowed his eyes and scanned the now empty surroundings, where is Riddle?
He had been sitting here for the better part of an hour, but Riddle had yet to show up. It was odd, to say the least. Riddle never showed up more than a few minutes after Severus arrived, and that was only once before. The rest of the time, he was the one waiting for Severus.
Severus furrowed his eyebrows. It was entirely possible that Riddle was just unable to show up that day, be it for personal or other reasons.
He sighed, uncrossing his arms.
Well, it wasn’t as if they had an agreement for these meetings. Riddle was under no obligation to show up in the first place, so who was he to say anything about it? The most he could do was foolishly keep waiting there for Riddle to show up, but he wasn't idiotic enough to do so. Merlin knows what a Gryffindor he would be to do that.
Severus made to get up, but for one reason or another, he stopped. There was an unexplainable feeling that he had, somewhere in the back of his mind, which prompted him to think that the reason behind Riddle’s absence wasn’t so simple. A… 'gut feeling’, if you will.
Severus wasn't usually big on coincidences, but from his experience, he learnt to trust this ‘gut feeling’ that he had, usually due to the fact that there was some part of the situation that was strange, or unusual, but it just wasn't in the forefront of his mind.
Yet if Riddle simply being busy was out of the question, what wasn’t? Severus knitted his eyebrows together. He wasn’t aware if Riddle had made any acquaintances recently, but even if he had, they almost certainly would not be frolicking about at this time.
Severus discreetly cast a homenum revelio to check for any presence nearby, before waving his hand to cast a swift tempus charm. He narrowed his eyes at the words.
9 p.m.? Severus frowned. No one should be out at this time, considering the weather, especially a young child such as Riddle.
The situation was growing stranger by the second. His mind reached for the most plausible explanation of where Riddle could be.
It was most likely that he was at his residence, Severus reasoned, but why would that have stopped him? Of course currently, going out would almost certainly freeze the kid to death, but just an hour ago the cold was almost negligible.
Severus’ train of thought jumped to the next logical cause of hindrance; Riddle Senior.
Yet Riddle Senior shouldn’t be able to harm Riddle in any way, including holding him back from whatever he wanted to do. The confundus charm should have given him the idea that…
Severus paused. The confundus charm. It wasn't an easy spell to detect by any means, presenting the confunded being to have ideas of their own, when they were really only acting on ideas implanted into their minds.
But should there be a close relative or someone familiar with the target— the spell could easily be detected.
Riddle’s mother was a liability, one that he had foolishly overlooked in his weird drive to keep his promise to Riddle. How much she was ‘in love’ with Riddle’s father exactly, Severus could only speculate. But considering the attempted (and failed) use of amortentia, he had to assume the notion went quite far.
Thus, she would likely be paying rather close attention to Riddle Senior on a regular basis. And should that be the case, coupling together the fact that she was familiar with magic…
Severus abruptly stood up.
If what I am guessing is true, Severus thought as he absentmindedly adjusted his cloak, throwing off any snow that had accumulated on it, I have to hurry.
His gaze darted around, quickly scanning his surroundings, before he pivoted on his heel. And with a muffled crack, Severus apparated away.
________
[. 1933]
Merope had begun to notice that her husband was acting…different. It was strange to her, even as a witch. Tom was acting like himself, talking like himself, even probably thinking like himself, but Merope felt as though something was…off.
Tom was still rather flippant with her— which she personally didn’t mind, love is subjective after all— but the same thing couldn’t be said for their son.
Tom had been acting distant with their son, and that was weird, at least to Merope. He wasn’t interacting with their kid, not even in the slightest. He had even stopped doing the… discipline that he used to do daily.
She wasn't against it, don’t get her wrong, it was just that she found the sudden change in behaviour a little… surprising, so to speak. And confusing.
Merope had even asked Tom why he had decided to be as he was. And he had replied, visibly disgusted, “The freak doesn’t even deserve my attention— God knows why I was even giving him as much as I was.”
She decided that it was great that Tom had decided to stop being so aggressive towards their child, even if the reasons weren't all that pleasant. Perhaps it was just a small step forward towards a better relationship. Stepping stones, as some might call it.
So she left things as they were.
- - - - - - - -
Tom, their son, was looking much more lively lately, as Merope had observed. He still wasn’t smiling around her, and actively avoided his father, but he did seem much less…depressed, for the lack of a better word.
He was also going out a lot more, especially in the evening, which honestly concerned her somewhat. Who’s mother wouldn’t worry about her child going out in the dark of the night to do some nonsense that she wasn't aware about?
But on the other hand, it seemed to be making her son a lot happier, so she was a bit apprehensive about confronting him about it. If whatever it was he was doing was making him more cheerful, then who was she to say anything about it?
So she left things as they were.
- - - - - - - -
Merope was getting a tad suspicious, as of late. Tom, her husband, had been acting weirder and weirder lately, more so than he had already been.
She stood by the sink, helping to wash the dishes that they had used for dinner, asking the servants in the kitchen to go home for that day, wishing to be alone.
As she scrubbed the dishes, she pondered on her situation.
Her husband’s strange behaviour wasn’t outright different, exactly, nor were his change in actions particularly obvious. They were subtle, but at the same time they were almost constantly jumping out at her.
Merope was at a loss. She knew that there was definitely something wrong with Tom, but she just wasn’t sure what. She had been observing him for the past few weeks at this point, but she still could not figure out what was going on. It was almost as if there was some external force that was driving her husband’s strange behaviour.
Merope paused her dish-washing.
Some external force… Her eyes widened. Some could even call it… magic…
She quickly shook her head, continuing to scrub the glass plates.
It can't be magic, was what she thought. That’s long behind me— plus, no one that’s even remotely magical that has been anywhere near…
Again, Merope paused, letting the water run.
There was something, something that she was just missing. It was just out of reach, like some hazy thought just in sight, but not quite clear enough to make out. When did this all start again?
Merope thought hard. She blinked.
That man, the one that came a few months ago. Merope knitted her eyebrows together.
She didn’t know why, of all times, that she suddenly recalled the man at that moment, but now that she thought about it, there was something about the man that seemed a bit weird. Socially awkward? Maybe– but that was barely something to take note of.
No, there was something else. It was odd, as Merope could visualise the man quite clearly now, but it was barely making sense in her mind. It was like her thoughts had been slightly—
Merope’s eyes widened. —meddled with magic. She finished the thought.
This all started from when that strange man came by with Tom, those few months ago. And after that very man had left, her husband’s strange behaviour had begun, and their son had started to go out in the evenings right around that time as well — was it a coincidence? Merope wasn’t so sure about that.
The chances of this man being magical was quite low, but it wasn’t impossible, and she was beginning to think that was the case more and more by the second.
If it were something as simple as… say a confundus charm or something, then all she would have to do was use Finite Incantatem on her husband and everything would go back to normal. Tom would just be himself again, no strings attached.
Merope quickly shook her head, returning to her original task.
No, she had left the Wizarding World behind because of this very reason, because she didn’t want Tom to leave her. Because she didn’t want the Wizarding society to meddle with the family she was trying to make. She didn’t want to let wizarding business get in the way of her relationship with her husband and son, like with her father and brother.
She should just leave it alone, she knew, but… Merope exhaled loudly, lowering the half clean plate in her hand. But… the Tom that was with her right now technically wasn’t her Tom. It was someone that was being manipulated into doing something that he didn’t want to do.
Merope bit her lip, thinking hard. Things were a little better, she had to admit, but if she truly loved Tom, would she leave him to be manipulated? By a force that she knew he despised?
She pursed her lips. No, she decided. I can’t leave things as they are.
- - - - - - - -
Merope crouched outside the master bedroom, listening carefully for any sign that Tom was fully asleep. If he were to catch her doing what she was, well… she didn’t want to imagine that outcome.
She pressed her ear to the door, and furrowed her eyebrows when she heard snoring coming from within the room. She tightened her hold on the familiar grip of her wand, a feeling that she hadn’t felt in so long.
Merope bit her lip. She was really about to do this, wasn’t she? She could still go back now if she wanted to, she could let things just carry on, and nothing would go wrong — yet, there was some part of her that knew she couldn’t go on without interfering. This was concerning her husband after all.
Merope took a deep breath, grabbed the door handle, turned it, and slowly pushed the door open. She peered through the gap into the darkness, before carefully making her way in.
Keeping her gaze on Tom’s sleeping form, loud snores masking any sound she was making, Merope snuck closer, and made it to the side of the massive bed.
She observed Tom’s relaxed face for a moment, smiling softly. If only he could be as relaxed when he was awake. Well, she hoped that releasing him from whatever possible spell that was on him would help him, even in the smallest of ways.
Gripping her wand tightly, she moved to raise it. There was a hesitation for a split second, but she shook the thought away. This was to help Tom— it wouldn’t harm him, even if her assumption was wrong.
“I’m sorry, Tom,” she whispered, she pointed it at her husband’s sleeping forehead. “……Finite Incantatem.”
There was a brief shimmer over Tom’s forehead, and before it faded, Merope was already nowhere to be found.
[Early-December 1933]
Tom Riddle woke up in his bed feeling clearer than ever. It was as though a fog had been lifted from his mind, which was strange, as he hadn’t been ill at all, at least not to his knowledge.
He swung his legs off his bed and leapt off, unusually chipper. He felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. It was an odd feeling, and he wasn’t really sure why he was feeling it at the moment, but he wasn’t complaining.
In fact, he thought as he reached up and stretched, this is the best that I’ve felt in, what, months? Until now, I’ve just… Tom frowned, slowly lowering his arms, I’ve just…what have I been doing recently?
Tom paused, thinking hard. He could remember small snippets of his days; some dinner, going to bed, et cetera, et cetera. But he could not remember a single big or special event that occured at all.
How about that meeting that he had with the board executive? How did that go? Tom’s head whipped around to look at the calendar. His eyes bulged at the date.
Six months have passed? Good Lord, does time fly by. He shook his head, effectively shaking away his unimportant thoughts. It probably went well, that meeting. Else I would be fretting about it for the past months! Tom sighed, making towards the bedroom door. Oh well, early signs of dementia I suppose— Heavens, I’m growing old.
Tom stomped his way down the stairs, flipping on the lights along the way. He was about to turn into the kitchen, when he spotted the freak sneaking towards the kitchen as well. He sneered.
“Boy!” He barked out, previous task forgotten, streamlining towards the scrawny boy, who strangely wasn't as scrawny as he remembered.
He narrowed his eyes at the thing, who had frozen in place, mid-step. The boy had jerked his head up, and stared directly into his eyes. Ice-blue eyes met a similar pair, And both stood there for a moment, eyes locked.
Tom, on his part, was in mild shock and disbelief. Then he grew mad. How dare that insolent freak of nature look him in the eyes? Like some sort of equal? Tom raised a firm hand, and before the boy could react— SMACK— Tom slapped the freak right across his face.
[Early-December 1933]
Tom Marvolo Riddle woke up feeling better than he had ever felt before. It was a strange feeling, for he was actually feeling some sense of… happiness lately. It was… nice, and Tom hoped that things would continue to be that way.
The Master hadn’t even so much as laid a finger on him for the past few months, and Tom was utterly delighted about the fact. It was extremely strange as well as confusing at first, as the Master never went a day without ‘disciplining’ him.
But Tom soon grew used to it, and eventually started to make use of this time that the Master wasn’t even paying attention to him. He was basically free to do whatever he wanted! As long as the Master didn’t catch him of course, but regardless, it was utter bliss to Tom.
And it was all thanks to the tall man.
Ever since he came to the Master’s house, everything had just gotten better and better. He was even meeting the tall man every day now, and it was amazing. It was his new favourite time of day, even over when he got to sneak food from the kitchen.
Oh, yea, Tom thought, scrambling to unlock the hatch, I should quickly get the food now, or Master might catch me!
Although things had been better, he still didn’t want to risk the wrath of the Master should he be seen doing something that he wasn't supposed to. For example, sneaking food from the kitchen. He was only a freak that was supposed to be allowed scraps from the Master’s meals, after all. But presented with the option, Tom couldn’t resist trying to get a little more food.
Tom crept as silently as possible down the hallway, gaze darting around for any presence outside of the servants in the kitchen and in the garden. He was halfway across the living room, when a familiar voice broke silence.
“Boy!” The rough voice of the Master barked out. Tom froze, fear immediately grabbing a hold on him. He reacted impulsively and jerked his head around, and stared at the Master’s sneering face like a deer caught in the headlights.
His eyes locked with the Master’s, and they stared at each other, both frozen in place.
Tom, on his part, was panicking internally. This was the first time that the Master had even acknowledged his presence in months! What should he do? Should he apologise? Should he just stay there? Should he run?
Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to choose any of the options, for the next thing he knew— SMACK— the Master slapped Tom right across his face.
“What do you think you're doing, boy?” the Master seethed, grabbing him roughly by the collar. Tom’s eyes went wide, trying to process what was happening, before he quickly realized what he had done and averted his eyes, actively trembling.
Oh great Emmanuel, I’ve just looked into the Master’s eyes! Tom was terrified and in disbelief at the same time. He had gotten so used to being away from the Master that he had forgotten that one, simple rule!
“I-I’m so sorry, I-I didn’t mean to, sir, I-I really, I-I-I’m so sorry! I’ll never do it again! I’m really—” —SMACK — he was silenced by another hard slap across the face, and he felt himself being thrown, briefly flying through the air, before— CRASH— he collided into a very familiar glass table.
Tom sat there, clutching his bleeding arm. What should he do? Beads of sweat trickled down his forehead, his gaze darted around the room, almost praying for an escape.
“It was you, wasn't it? The one who brought that other freak of nature back here with you, all those months ago. You’re the one that did this to me. You used that fucking magic on me!” The Master roared from across the room. Tom didn’t dare look up now.
What was the Master talking about? Magic? And The tall man? What…? Tom was utterly confused. But that wasn’t the main concern for him at the moment, for just then, a hard object flew right past him and broke against the wall behind him with a loud CRASH!
“You fucking shit-hole actually used that freaky magicbusiness on me?! How fucking dare you?!Oh, you had better be scared,” the Master growled sinisterly, “because this shit has gone too. Fucking. Far.”
Tom’s eyes grew wide. He was frozen, breathing hard, not trusting himself to even move an inch at the moment. There was no doubt, this was the angriest he had ever seen the Master, and that was not a good sign. Not in the slightest.
He almost hoped the servants would do something, but he knew that they couldn't, even if they wanted to. The Master made sure of that.
He heard the clanking of glass from across the room, and the heavy thuds of the Master’s footsteps coming towards him. Closer… closer… Tom squeezed his eyes shut. Was this it? Was this the end? What about The tall man? What was going to happen to him?
Tom’s mind was racing with these thoughts as the Master approached slowly. Just when he thought it was all over—
“Stop!”
[Early-December 1933]
The moment Merope awoke, she knew that something was wrong. There was a loud crash that had come from downstairs, one that was more familiar than she would’ve liked to admit.
Yet, that familiar sound was one that she hadn’t heard in months, and the fact that it was here again… Merope went cold. Was it really a spell? Had she actually done something?
She leapt out of her single-bed, and scrambled for the door, and rushed to go downstairs, fearing the worst. The moment she reached the bottom of the staircase, Merope froze, suspicions confirmed.
There her husband was, advancing towards their cowering son, holding up a beer bottle, as though he was about to— Merope’s hand flew to her mouth.
No. Tom had been rough in the past, sure, but this was different! Using that would outright kill their son! Tom wouldn’t do that… would he? Merope didn’t want to believe it, but somewhere in the back of her mind she knew that it was entirely possible.
In fact, Merope thought as she tightened her grip on the staircase railing, it’s the most likely thing that he’s going to do.
Instinctively, she was going to turn away, as she always did. It had always worked out so far, so why shouldn’t it now? Yet, there was a rational part of his mind that knew that this might not be one of those times. She might not have a son to go back and help, after this exchange.
She watched as Tom stepped slowly towards their son, the beer bottle held high. She stared, wide-eyed, at her son trembling in fear, arms not even raised, as if he had accepted his fate.
Merope breathed hard. Her mind raced, her body hesitated, but eventually—
”Stop!”
She called out as loud as she could, racing as fast as her body could to stand in front of her son. Her eyes were wide, panicked, while her arms were held out, shielding Tom (her son) the best that she could.
Tom (her husband) paused. The beer bottle was still held up, ready to strike at any moment. Her husband snarled at her, yellowing teeth exposing themselves.
“Girl, what do you think you’re doing?” He growled at her. Merope gulped.
“Tom…” she began hesitantly, “I…just, think about what you’re about to do, alright? It- it’ll turn out different if… if you carry this out—”
“You’re in no position to negotiate, girl. I would throw this at you right now, but you’re too pretty to die just yet. So I’ll give you just one chance to get the fuck out of my way,” her husband threatened in a low tone.
Merope gulped. She almost moved away on instinct alone, but tried her best to remain steadfast. Should she step away, things could turn out very badly.
So, she stayed, silently glued to her spot, knees weak and legs trembling.
“Girl, one. Last. Chance.” Tom snarled, his fist tightening around the neck of the beer bottle, raising it higher.
Merope’s bit her lip, already weak stance faltering. She could feel her resolve slowly breaking, both her body and mind screaming to just move to the side. It was only rational— plus, she did do all these things for Tom’s sake. It was the same every other time, all the times she stepped out of the way, it was out of… Merope hesitated.
It was all out of… what exactly? Love? Fear? At that moment, she suddenly wasn’t so sure.
Merope thought about her child curled up behind her, her own body being the only shield in between him and his nearly certain death.
She gazed at Tom’s glowering face, just wanting to hope that there was something in there, something that still resembled the charming man that she had met, all those years ago.
“Tom…you… you can’t do this, you just can’t! I-I know that there’s still that part of you that’s in there! Just… please,” Merope tried again, desperately searching for the man that she loved.
“And who’s going to stop me? You? I certainly don’t think so,” Tom just replied, sneering.
“But-but,” Merope searched hard for a reason, gaze darting all around the room. She spotted a crucifix hanging on the far side of the wall. “How about The Lord? He wouldn’t want you to do this! It-it—”
“Oh I'm sure the Lord will agree with me on this one, getting rid of the fucking freaks that roam this Earth that He created, so just get the fuck away!” Tom threw the beer bottle off to the side of the room, and it crashed loudly, breaking into millions of pieces and splashing beer all over the walls.
Merope flinched.
He's… really serious about this, huh, Merope thought as she watched Tom grab another beer bottle and turn back towards them, snarling.
Again, she gulped.
She knew that she had to step away, she knew that there was no going back— but some part of her must've still wanted to believe that there was still that man, the one that she loved, somewhere in there, for she had stayed, shielding her son.
“I… please, just think about this, Tom, I… I know this isn't you, not the one I know, please, I- I…” Merope hesitated, biting her lip. “If.. if you love this family, love me, if you ever did love me, please, don't do this…” Merope’s voice shook, raw with emotion.
Tom paused. He seemed to actually be thinking about it— actually listening to her. She gazed at Tom, wide-eyed.
Did he really — is he…? Merope was hopeful, eyes shining ever so slightly. Maybe he did love her—
But she couldn't finish the thought, for just then, she registered something brown flying towards her head. She didn't have time to dodge, or react at all, before she felt a hard ‘THUD' as it hit her forehead, and a ‘CRASH’ as the object shattered.
Merope was in shock. She felt herself falling backwards, falling… falling… and a hard ‘THUMP’ as her back his the floor. Her head was throbbing. Her vision blurry. She felt something thick dripping down her face. It smelt of beer and… metal.
She heard indistinct shouting, someone mumbling something to her left. She tried to listen. She couldn't. Her ears were ringing. They were loud, piercing, almost unbearable. Merope was in shock.
Her eyes swiveled in their sockets, trying to make out what happened with whatever little vision she had left. She could make out two silhouettes, one standing further away, and the other just next her.
Tom… right… my… husband… he… threw a beer bottle at me, Merope thought groggily. Hah, I guess… I was maybe… just a bit too…blind.
Her eyes tried to focus on the smaller one beside her, trying to make out who he was.
Tom…? She thought uncertainly. Her mind was still foggy, and she furrowed her eyebrows to focus. My… son? She gazed up at the small figure, who appeared to be mouthing something.
What…what are you saying? Ah, that's right… she suddenly thought, saddening, although her mind was still a mess, she had these flashes of… memories? She recalled so, oh so many times she had let her son down.
All those times, she should've done something, anything, and yet she didn't. She just watched. This was all her fault.
She felt tears forming in her eyes.
“Tom…” she croaked out, her hand twitching as she tried to reach out to her son. She brushed some cold pieces of glass(?) and a pair of warm hands clasped hers. She gazed up at her son, tears spilling down her face, mixing with the forming pool of blood below her.
Oh dear Tom… no, Marvolo… Merope thought, smiling softly up at him.
“I… I’m… so…” She felt something wet dripping onto her face. She could feel her consciousness fading. There was a bang, one that sounded like a door, but it felt so far away.
She struggled to keep awake.
“I…”
I'm so sorry.
And everything went black.
________
To be continued