A/N: I do not own a line in this story, I’ll verify that line at the end of this fiction. Don’t want to give anything away, now, do I?
Merope looked out her bedroom window and saw Tom Riddle walking outside.
“MEROPE!” screeched someone- Marvolo Gaunt. She heard her brother say, “She’s probably looking at the Riddle boy.”
She raced downstairs and glared at Morfin. “Sorry, father, for my tardiness.”
Marvolo grunted. “Go set the table.”
“Yes, Father,” said Merope, rushing to the kitchen.
Morfin walked behind her. “Why do you like the Muggle, Merope?”
“Stop it, Morfin. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Honestly…”
“Oh. Oh, so… so you don’t like the Muggle?” asked Morfin.
“Okay. Good.” he smiled, revealing crooked, pointy teeth.
Morfin left the kitchen while Merope washed a pot.
She heard her father and looked into the sitting room when she spotted an oddly dressed man.
“…straight to the point, we have a reason to believe that your son, Morfin, performed magic in front of a Muggle late last night.”
Merope dropped the pot she was holding. She heard Morfin cackling as her father shouted at the man.
He wouldn’t have, thought Merope, he couldn’t have. But Morfin nodded at her, smiling cruelly. That confirmed her suspicions.
Morfin hurt Tom.
A/N: The line I don’t own is, “…straight to the point, we have a reason to believe that your son, Morfin, performed magic in front of a Muggle late last night.” This really was a short story.