Fic Post- Merope Hid Her Face For Shame: And Eve Was Weak
Merope Hid Her Face For Shame: And Eve Was Weak
Come here, my dear
Let's see this trinket you wear
This bagatelle...
-Schönberg & Boublil, Les Miserables
She didn't have any money, had run with only the clothes on her back, but Tommy... Tommy had liked her to look pretty. Liked to give her pretty things to keep her from asking questions.
For once his condescension had been useful. When she reached the marginally more familiar environs of Diagon Alley, the pearls, the bracelets, the earrings... even the flashy ring he'd claimed meant they were engaged, one night when he was especially drunk... it was easy enough to convert them into enough money to get herself a bed, and something to eat, for a while at least.
She didn't let herself think about what she'd do when the money ran out.
Another worry was that her father would come looking for her when he got out of Azkaban. She'd given the innkeeper a false name... well. It was her mother's mother's name, surely she'd earned that much inheritance? Her father never mentioned her, it seemed likely to Merope that if he'd ever known it, he'd put her name out of his head. He rarely bothered to remember things that he didn't think he could benefit from.
She'd only met Melpomene Clutterbuck twice, and only the second was clear enough to remember. Merope had been nine, and her grandmother had been on her deathbed.
"Marry out, girl," she'd whispered, with all the vehemence she could muster. "Told Marpessa to marry out like I did, and look what she's come to. That wretched son-in-law of mine is going to wear her out trying to get more sons to carry on the bloody family name. Hate to think what he's planning for you, girl. You marry out soon's you can, even if that means running off at fifteen with the first boy from school who'll have you."
She hadn't really understood, then. And when she was fifteen she'd been pulled out of school, put to work keeping the house in order after her mother's death. She'd begun to understand a little by then.
And she had run off with the first boy who'd have her after all, and even if they weren't quite married, it was as 'out' as could be, and look where that had gotten her. The sum the jewelry had fetched had seemed staggering, but it was running out so fast, and she was realising she didn't really know what anything cost. Soon she wouldn't even be able to pay for the ragged little room she was renting, and then what would she do? Get a job? Most places used a basic charm, checking to see that everything you put on the application was true. The ones that didn't were... dodgy. Like this grimy rented room was dodgy. Like her whole situation was dodgy.
And who would hire her, now that she was showing? She seemed to be sick most of the time, dizzy and having trouble keeping down food... was this what it had been like for her mother, through all those failed attempts to produce more sons to carry on the Gaunt name?
Only one thing left to sell. One thing she didn't want anyway. The locket had been heavy around her neck ever since coming to London, and all the more so since she'd gone staggering down the street in the middle of the night.
It was all that was left of who she was, and she wanted nothing more than to be rid of it, and she was terrified to let it out of her sight. She hadn't taken it off since her mother died.
She sat on the hard little bed, staring into space, shuddering at the feeling of the baby squirming inside her. This wasn't how it was supposed to be.
Grant her the right to whisper to her son
The foolish names one dare not call a king.
-Dorothy Parker, "Prayer for a New Mother"
She'd been cheated outrageously on the locket, Merope knew, and again on the Galleons-to-Muggle-currency exchange; they could tell, the goblins could, when you weren't in a position to complain. But she needed to go back to Muggle London for this. Her father was surely out of Azkaban by now, and calling herself 'Melpomene Clutterbuck' wouldn't be enough to stay hidden if he were to come after her in earnest. Getting rid of the locket was a start, and she'd been furious at herself and shaking with fear when she'd realized how easily she could have been found that way.
No, she needed to be where he wouldn't look for her. Which meant St. Mungo's was out.
She'd been able to get a warm coat, and boots. She'd tried to find a room at a boardinghouse, but they all took one look at her big belly and ringless left hand, and their eyes hardened. One door had literally been slammed in her face. Finally she'd found a room to rent, in a house so grim and ill-heated she didn't want to spend any more time there than necessary. She'd taken to spending her days sitting in the cheapest cafés she could find, keeping herself warm with endless cups of coffee and bowls of soup.
She was skittish enough that the hand on her shoulder almost made her scream. But when she glanced up warily, it was only a middle-aged woman with a motherly smile. She set a cup of tea down in front of Merope and laid a hand on the table.
"You've been here rather a lot lately," she said with a trace of an accent Merope couldn't place. "Family show you the door, did they?"
Merope bit her lip. "I. I suppose you could put it that way."
"You'll want to go here. They'll look after you, truly." She slid a card across the table.
It was a plain white card with an address and a name: St. Thaïs Refuge.
And God made Eve from the rib of Adam,
And Eve was weak and loosed the raven upon the world,
And the raven was called sin.
-Stephen King, Carrie
All Merope knew was that she was cold. She'd woken up with a persistent backache and the realization that she'd run out of money; she'd just spent her last night in the only room she could find to rent.
She'd walked until the cheapest café she knew was open, and spent her last few coins on a bowl of stew. It was watery and what little meat was in it was tough and stringy, but it was hot, and she made it last as long as she could. They'd hardly let her stay once she was no longer a paying customer, after all, and she couldn't buy anything else.
That was when Merope realised it wasn't just a backache that was plaguing her.
She'd swear that she could feel the blood drain from her face. She'd seen her mother in labor more than once, screaming and thrashing only to birth a tiny corpse, or a pitiful sickly creature with barely the strength to mewl fretfully for half an hour or so before slipping into merciful stillness. And every year she'd grown weaker, until Merope had received that curt message at the start of her fifth year telling her she was needed at home, as her mother could no longer maintain the household. It wasn't until she'd gotten home that she found that her mother was already dead.
Merope knew that she was cold. The snow was making it hard to see. The only place she could think to go was the address on the card the woman had given her. She didn't know what St. Thaïs Refuge was... but a refuge meant a safe place, didn't it?
Somehow, she found the address on the card. It was a huge building, all dull grey stone. She banged with all the strength, and almost fell over when the door was yanked open abruptly. The girl who'd opened the door couldn't have been older than Merope herself, but she looked her over with palpable disdain.
"You've got the wrong door," she snapped, doubtless trying to sound prim but coming off rather more shrewish.
Merope opened her mouth to speak, but could only manage a weak moan, and clutched the doorframe to keep from falling over.
"Oh for the love of--- Matron! Matron!" The girl pelted down the hallway, sounding more put-upon than anxious.
After that, it was a bit of a blur. Merope wasn't sure how she wound up on a hard, narrow bed in a rather dingy room, with only the scornful-looking girl who'd answered the door for company. She didn't look so much scornful now, though, as disgusted and a little afraid. Every few minutes an older woman would look in on them, but she was stern and silent,
Between the pains that robbed her of all breath, Merope tried nervously to talk to her, desperate for distraction, even if it was just the sound of her own voice. It hurt so much, no wonder her mother had thrashed and cried out so. Was she going to die like her mother had? "It's... it's silly, I know... but I'm sure it's a boy, I am."
The girl, sitting carefully out of reach, merely looked at her sourly.
"If I'm wrong... if it's a girl... I'll call her Marpessa..." She owed her mother that much. "If it's a boy..."
Just then, the stern-faced woman swept into the room, in the company of a red-faced man with too little wispy hair trying to cover too much shiny scalp. Merope cringed in shame as he pushed her legs up and further apart.
"Stupid girl!" It took Merope a moment to realize he wasn't addressing her. "Surely you didn't think this much blood was normal?"
From then, it grew even more vague. It seemed almost as if she were floating above herself, watching the man doing mysterious and unpleasant things. Another pain that seemed to rend her in two and...
"A fine healthy boy, Mrs. West." Glancing at Merope, he shook his head and leaned toward the stern-faced woman, handing her the infant and murmuring something in her ear.
"Well, she's the nuns' problem either way now, isn't she?" Mrs. West and the man, whose name she'd not caught, were headed out the door. She turned her head as she walked out. "Sit with her until the sisters come fetch her, Anne."
"But..." A single sharp look silenced her.
"Wait..." Merope struggled to sit up."Where are you..." But they were already gone. She turned to the girl... Anne... fighting an overwhelming wave of dizziness. "Where are they taking him?"
"To the nursery, you daft cow. Surely you didn't think you'd..."
"But I haven't even named him yet!"
"Hardly matters what the likes of you would call him, does it?" Anne sneered openly.
Despite the light-headed weakness that was overcoming her, Merope was seized by a surge of energy that had nothing do do with physical strength. A surge she'd felt when... no, she wouldn't think of that. She stretched out her arm, and Anne's chair skidded forward just enough for Merope to grab the front of her dress. "He has a name," she spat angrily, staring into the girl's suddenly frightened eyes. "His name is Tom Marvolo Riddle." For my sins. All of it, my fault... "You'll see to it. You'll see that he's not called anything else."
Anne, starting to whimper, nodded. Merope released her grip on the girl's dress, leaving a bloody handprint behind, and as the swell of raw power faded, sank back onto the bed, closing her eyes.
To be continued in "I Knew I Was Not Bound For Heaven"