Harry Potter: Tom (The Merope Remix)
Original Fic: Merope, by sophinisba
Remix: Tom (The Merope Remix) [Tom Riddle, Sr./Merope Gaunt, 200 words, rated PG-13, very vaguely implied violence], by visiblemarket
He tells her stories.
The seven sisters, bright and shining, brilliant in the night. Equally so, to the last, and it’s a lie, but one she deserves; he’s never seen a woman who shone so brightly, outshines her name, and he tells her so.
Even in the rain, even through the fog, she glows, and perhaps it’s unnatural but so, perhaps, (a voice he doesn’t recognize points out) is love.
She tells him stories.
He doesn’t hear them. Not fully, only the outlines; red and purple and yellow and brown.
Bruises, he knows them to be. A part of him does, at least, and a part of him knows them to be wrong.
Knows in a part of himself he’s never had much use for, that they’re true and that they’re painful and that they’ve become his as well, and should be avenged.
But her hand in his, her arms around his neck, it doesn’t matter.
She matters. She is his, and he hers, and that’s all that matters.
She tells him that, and he believes it.
Believes her.
His parents lie as they always have, his friends’ faces twist further into scorn, but Merope shines and smiles and glows.
Remix: Tom (The Merope Remix) [Tom Riddle, Sr./Merope Gaunt, 200 words, rated PG-13, very vaguely implied violence], by visiblemarket
He tells her stories.
The seven sisters, bright and shining, brilliant in the night. Equally so, to the last, and it’s a lie, but one she deserves; he’s never seen a woman who shone so brightly, outshines her name, and he tells her so.
Even in the rain, even through the fog, she glows, and perhaps it’s unnatural but so, perhaps, (a voice he doesn’t recognize points out) is love.
She tells him stories.
He doesn’t hear them. Not fully, only the outlines; red and purple and yellow and brown.
Bruises, he knows them to be. A part of him does, at least, and a part of him knows them to be wrong.
Knows in a part of himself he’s never had much use for, that they’re true and that they’re painful and that they’ve become his as well, and should be avenged.
But her hand in his, her arms around his neck, it doesn’t matter.
She matters. She is his, and he hers, and that’s all that matters.
She tells him that, and he believes it.
Believes her.
His parents lie as they always have, his friends’ faces twist further into scorn, but Merope shines and smiles and glows.