A week passed.
I settled into village life faster than I had expected. I woke at dawn, lit the stove, made breakfast, then worked in the garden, helped around the house, had lunch, worked again, dinner, and sleep — deep, dreamless sleep.
Mrs. Cole turned out to be a strict but fair teacher. She taught me everything she knew herself: how to bake bread, pickle cucumbers, darn clothes, predict the weather by the clouds. I absorbed all this knowledge like a sponge, rejoicing at every new skill.
In the village, they got used to me.
"Merope, Mrs. Cole's niece" — now that was my official name.
The locals stopped looking at me sideways; some even greeted me first. Toby from the shop still eyed me with suspicion, but his wife, a quiet woman named Eliza, once slipped a packet of candies into my hands — "just because, for a treat."
I melted at such kindness.
"You see?" Mrs. Cole would say. "People aren't evil. Everyone just has their own cockroaches in their head. Toby, for example, is afraid someone will rob his shop. But otherwise — a normal man."
On Saturday Mrs. Cole sent me to the market for groceries.
"You'll manage on your own?" she asked.
"Of course," I said confidently.
The road to the market passed by the hill where the Riddle estate stood. I saw it from afar every day — a beautiful old house with turrets, surrounded by a park. The locals spoke about it with respect and a touch of envy: "The Riddles are old money, respectable people. Mr. Riddle Senior is the squire. And his son, Tom, is handsome but flighty. Doesn't leave the girls alone."
I tried not to think about Tom Riddle. He was not interesting to me. At all.
But that morning fate decided otherwise.
I was walking along the path, enjoying the sun and the fresh air, when suddenly I heard the sound of hooves. I turned around.
A rider was galloping down the road.
A beautiful bay horse, expensive tack, and on it — a young man. Dark hair, brown eyes, a snow-white shirt, perfect posture. He rode past without even glancing at me.
Tom Riddle Senior.
I watched him ride away and felt… nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
No butterflies in my stomach, no quickened heartbeat, not even simple curiosity. Just a man on a horse. That was all.
I kept walking, and only a minute later I stopped dead in my tracks.
"Good Lord," I whispered. "Could it really be that the fate of this world is so easy to change?"
If I don't fall in love with him, don't enchant him, don't bear his child — Voldemort will not exist. He simply will not exist. Harry Potter will be born into a normal family or not be born at all — but that will no longer be my problem.
I smiled and kept walking, feeling an incredible lightness from those thoughts.
At the market I bought everything I needed and even bargained with the greens seller, knocking the price down by a full two pence. I was returning home pleased, whistling a tune I had heard from Mrs. Cole.
But when I passed by the estate, I saw Tom again.
He was standing by the gate, talking with a girl. Beautiful, fair-haired, in an expensive dress. They were laughing; he was saying something to her, leaning very, very close.
I walked past without even slowing my step.
"Hey, girl!" he suddenly called out.
I froze. Turned around.
"You mean me?"
"You," he flashed a dazzling smile. "Could you tell me the time?"
I had no watch. But I looked at the sun and said:
"Around eleven."
"Thank you," he nodded and turned back to his companion, losing all interest in me.
"Idiot," I muttered under my breath. "Self-absorbed idiot."
That evening I told Mrs. Cole about the encounter.
"Tom Riddle?" she snorted. "Oh, that one's quite a specimen. Handsome, but brainless. Like a bell without a tongue — plenty of ringing, no use."
"And his family?"
"The father is the squire, strict, fair. The mother is quiet, hardly leaves the house. And Tom is the only son, the heir, he can do anything he likes. They say he's already broken three girls' hearts. Looking for a rich bride, and in the meantime amusing himself with peasant girls."
"Ugh," I grimaced.
"There you have your 'ugh,'" Mrs. Cole shook her head. "Good thing you're a smart girl and don't fall for men like that."
I smiled.
"I won't. I promise."
That night I had a dream.
I was standing at the edge of a forest, looking at the Gaunts' hut. Morfin came out of the door. He looked old, exhausted, but his eyes were clear.
"Sister," he said. "Forgive me."
I wanted to say something in reply, but I woke up.
After that I lay in the darkness, staring at the ceiling and thinking: what exactly did that dream mean?
There was no answer.
In the end I sighed and went back to sleep.
In the morning I got up and went to work. My new life continued, and at that time I still did not know what trials awaited me ahead.