Fic: The Changeling Bride
Title: The Changeling Bride
Author: minnow_53
Pairing: Merope Gaunt/Tom Riddle
Rating: PG
Summary: After she’s married, Merope shows her true colours.
AN: The Tom Riddle in the fic is Voldemort's father.
The Changeling Bride
This is a true story I heard from my great-grandmother, who told it last Halloween, when the shadows started to fall and we had only the light of a candle. My father put a tumbler of brandy and water in her hand, and I said, ‘Great-Granny, tell us a ghost story.’ My great-grandmother said, ‘I don’t want to frighten you, child,’ and I said, ‘You won’t.’
‘I can’t promise you ghosts,’ my great-grandmother said, ‘but I will tell you something that happened when I was just a few years older than you.’
At that time, when she was sixteen or so, my great-grandmother, worked as a chambermaid at a fine London hotel. One evening, a man arrived with a taxi full of luggage and a beautiful girl to whom he was to be married. There was quite a commotion, and some whispering below stairs that they were royalty. ‘He was certainly a handsome man,’ my great-grandmother said, ‘but the girl was truly the loveliest creature I have ever laid eyes on. I can still see her now, all these years later, with her great green eyes, and that fine, almost translucent complexion we used to call porcelain. She was a gracious lady too, very young but self-possessed. She told us her own maid was indisposed, and asked if one or two of us would be so kind as to help her dress for her wedding the following day.
‘Wouldn’t we just! Me and Maud, who always wanted to be a ladies’ maid, volunteered, and on the morning of the wedding we went up to her room early, to be of service.’
The rooms in that hotel were, my great-grandmother said, fit for a princess, with satin curtains and great four-poster beds. The beautiful bride was sitting propped up on a nest of six or seven feather pillows, her fair hair spread out behind her. On the bedside table next to her was a vase of roses, with a note propped up beside it: ‘Love you forever, Merope. Your Tom.’
‘Maud was intrigued by the name, and the bride laughed and explained that Merope was a constellation, one of the stars known as the Seven Sisters. “My father was a classical scholar,” she added, and then gave a rueful smile, though her eyes were sad. “He would have been so happy to see me married!” she sighed, and Maud and I glanced at each other, supposing he was dead.’
My great-grandmother and Maud helped the bride into her underwear. ‘Pure silk knickers, like a wisp of mist, and a lovely petticoat, all lace, but soft as gossamer. Goodness knows what material it was, for I’ve not come across anything as delicate before or since.’
The bride sat in her petticoat in front of the glass to have her hair dressed. ‘Maud marvelled later that it was so fine, yet so thick. In those days, in the nineteen-twenties, the fashion was for short, boyish hair, yet this girl made the flappers of the time seem dull and ordinary. We decided it would be a crime not to leave her hair loose, and Maud and I brushed it until it shone. The girl was smiling dreamily to herself in the mirror all the while. I have never seen anyone so much in love!’
The wedding dress, my great-grandmother told us, was plain, almost severe, long and white and closely fitted. ‘She had a tiny waist. No baby there yet, for sure! If she had one fault it was that she was too slim, but then, many brides lose weight before their wedding day. Still, she looked exquisite, and I was sorry when the moment came to cover her face with the veil.’
When the bride was ready, Maud and my great-grandmother handed her into the car come to take her to the church where she was to marry. ‘We wished her luck, and she pressed five pounds into each of our hands, a fortune in those days.’
Later, the newlyweds came back to spend their wedding night at the hotel, and the following day they left in a gleaming Daimler on their honeymoon.
‘Though our shifts were over for the week, I dragged Maud down to the front of the hotel to see the couple off. We stood well away from the entrance, where nobody would think we were spying.
‘The bride came down in a chinchilla coat and matching hat, and sat in the back of the car. Her husband joined her, but he started to fidget, as men do. He had evidently forgotten something, because he then got out and darted into the hotel again. The bride shrugged, and turned to gaze out of the window.’
Here, my great-grandmother paused for a moment.
‘I’m still not sure what happened next. I do remember that I made the sign of the cross, so as not to draw the wrath of the devil down on me! For our beautiful girl was gone.’
At first, my great-grandmother thought she must have been abducted, and replaced by some woman from the streets. ‘And then I thought perhaps she was teasing us with a hideous mask; not so much hideous as coarse and lumpen, with a low brow, and strange eyes that seemed to be staring in different directions. That was the oddest part, because they were the same clear green as the bride’s eyes, but with all the intelligence gone out of them. I never saw such a brutalised face, as if she’d known nothing but abuse all her life.’
‘That’s fanciful,’ my mother interjected, and my great-grandmother insisted, ‘You can read a wealth of experience in a face.’
She took another draught of her drink.
‘At any rate,’ she continued, ‘Maud clutched my arm, and she was so white I thought she’d faint. I wished she wasn’t, because otherwise I might have thought I was imagining things. She asked, “What does it mean?” and I replied that the girl must be a changeling, a fairy or succubus of some sort. I didn’t know what she was, really. And the worst of it was that Maud and I had no idea what to do. How could we tell a complete stranger that his beautiful wife wasn’t what she seemed? At best, he would have laughed, but more likely we’d have lost our jobs on the spot. So we said nothing, though Maud clutched my arm even tighter when he came out through the revolving doors again, brandishing a pair of gloves.’
And then, my great-grandmother said, a big flock of pigeons suddenly flew up right in front of them, as many as they’d ever seen, even in Trafalgar Square. When the birds dispersed, the car was drawing away, and they could just make out the lovely profile of the bride turned towards her husband.
After my father had refilled her glass, my great-grandmother added, ‘Maud and I made a pact never to tell anyone, and I never did, till now. But I still wonder about the couple, sometimes. I’ve always thought no good could have come of that match.’
My mother said sharply, ‘And how would you know if it hadn’t, Granny? This must be more than seventy years ago, and they’re probably long since dead! And here we still are, safe and sound.‘
I asked, ‘But why? Why did she change back at all?’
‘You ask too many questions,’ my mother said. ‘It’s a story, that’s all.’ And my great-grandmother, bristling, said, ‘It really happened! As to why, I don’t know. I don’t even know if she was aware of any change herself! Perhaps, when she thought nobody was looking at her, she would show her true colours for a minute or two. Anyway, it’s over and done now. Over and done.’
But I, sitting cosy by the fire, safe from the October gales howling round the house, shivered slightly and felt afraid, as if the story had awakened some evil presence and someday soon it would swoop down and overwhelm us all.
End
Author: minnow_53
Pairing: Merope Gaunt/Tom Riddle
Rating: PG
Summary: After she’s married, Merope shows her true colours.
AN: The Tom Riddle in the fic is Voldemort's father.
The Changeling Bride
This is a true story I heard from my great-grandmother, who told it last Halloween, when the shadows started to fall and we had only the light of a candle. My father put a tumbler of brandy and water in her hand, and I said, ‘Great-Granny, tell us a ghost story.’ My great-grandmother said, ‘I don’t want to frighten you, child,’ and I said, ‘You won’t.’
‘I can’t promise you ghosts,’ my great-grandmother said, ‘but I will tell you something that happened when I was just a few years older than you.’
At that time, when she was sixteen or so, my great-grandmother, worked as a chambermaid at a fine London hotel. One evening, a man arrived with a taxi full of luggage and a beautiful girl to whom he was to be married. There was quite a commotion, and some whispering below stairs that they were royalty. ‘He was certainly a handsome man,’ my great-grandmother said, ‘but the girl was truly the loveliest creature I have ever laid eyes on. I can still see her now, all these years later, with her great green eyes, and that fine, almost translucent complexion we used to call porcelain. She was a gracious lady too, very young but self-possessed. She told us her own maid was indisposed, and asked if one or two of us would be so kind as to help her dress for her wedding the following day.
‘Wouldn’t we just! Me and Maud, who always wanted to be a ladies’ maid, volunteered, and on the morning of the wedding we went up to her room early, to be of service.’
The rooms in that hotel were, my great-grandmother said, fit for a princess, with satin curtains and great four-poster beds. The beautiful bride was sitting propped up on a nest of six or seven feather pillows, her fair hair spread out behind her. On the bedside table next to her was a vase of roses, with a note propped up beside it: ‘Love you forever, Merope. Your Tom.’
‘Maud was intrigued by the name, and the bride laughed and explained that Merope was a constellation, one of the stars known as the Seven Sisters. “My father was a classical scholar,” she added, and then gave a rueful smile, though her eyes were sad. “He would have been so happy to see me married!” she sighed, and Maud and I glanced at each other, supposing he was dead.’
My great-grandmother and Maud helped the bride into her underwear. ‘Pure silk knickers, like a wisp of mist, and a lovely petticoat, all lace, but soft as gossamer. Goodness knows what material it was, for I’ve not come across anything as delicate before or since.’
The bride sat in her petticoat in front of the glass to have her hair dressed. ‘Maud marvelled later that it was so fine, yet so thick. In those days, in the nineteen-twenties, the fashion was for short, boyish hair, yet this girl made the flappers of the time seem dull and ordinary. We decided it would be a crime not to leave her hair loose, and Maud and I brushed it until it shone. The girl was smiling dreamily to herself in the mirror all the while. I have never seen anyone so much in love!’
The wedding dress, my great-grandmother told us, was plain, almost severe, long and white and closely fitted. ‘She had a tiny waist. No baby there yet, for sure! If she had one fault it was that she was too slim, but then, many brides lose weight before their wedding day. Still, she looked exquisite, and I was sorry when the moment came to cover her face with the veil.’
When the bride was ready, Maud and my great-grandmother handed her into the car come to take her to the church where she was to marry. ‘We wished her luck, and she pressed five pounds into each of our hands, a fortune in those days.’
Later, the newlyweds came back to spend their wedding night at the hotel, and the following day they left in a gleaming Daimler on their honeymoon.
‘Though our shifts were over for the week, I dragged Maud down to the front of the hotel to see the couple off. We stood well away from the entrance, where nobody would think we were spying.
‘The bride came down in a chinchilla coat and matching hat, and sat in the back of the car. Her husband joined her, but he started to fidget, as men do. He had evidently forgotten something, because he then got out and darted into the hotel again. The bride shrugged, and turned to gaze out of the window.’
Here, my great-grandmother paused for a moment.
‘I’m still not sure what happened next. I do remember that I made the sign of the cross, so as not to draw the wrath of the devil down on me! For our beautiful girl was gone.’
At first, my great-grandmother thought she must have been abducted, and replaced by some woman from the streets. ‘And then I thought perhaps she was teasing us with a hideous mask; not so much hideous as coarse and lumpen, with a low brow, and strange eyes that seemed to be staring in different directions. That was the oddest part, because they were the same clear green as the bride’s eyes, but with all the intelligence gone out of them. I never saw such a brutalised face, as if she’d known nothing but abuse all her life.’
‘That’s fanciful,’ my mother interjected, and my great-grandmother insisted, ‘You can read a wealth of experience in a face.’
She took another draught of her drink.
‘At any rate,’ she continued, ‘Maud clutched my arm, and she was so white I thought she’d faint. I wished she wasn’t, because otherwise I might have thought I was imagining things. She asked, “What does it mean?” and I replied that the girl must be a changeling, a fairy or succubus of some sort. I didn’t know what she was, really. And the worst of it was that Maud and I had no idea what to do. How could we tell a complete stranger that his beautiful wife wasn’t what she seemed? At best, he would have laughed, but more likely we’d have lost our jobs on the spot. So we said nothing, though Maud clutched my arm even tighter when he came out through the revolving doors again, brandishing a pair of gloves.’
And then, my great-grandmother said, a big flock of pigeons suddenly flew up right in front of them, as many as they’d ever seen, even in Trafalgar Square. When the birds dispersed, the car was drawing away, and they could just make out the lovely profile of the bride turned towards her husband.
After my father had refilled her glass, my great-grandmother added, ‘Maud and I made a pact never to tell anyone, and I never did, till now. But I still wonder about the couple, sometimes. I’ve always thought no good could have come of that match.’
My mother said sharply, ‘And how would you know if it hadn’t, Granny? This must be more than seventy years ago, and they’re probably long since dead! And here we still are, safe and sound.‘
I asked, ‘But why? Why did she change back at all?’
‘You ask too many questions,’ my mother said. ‘It’s a story, that’s all.’ And my great-grandmother, bristling, said, ‘It really happened! As to why, I don’t know. I don’t even know if she was aware of any change herself! Perhaps, when she thought nobody was looking at her, she would show her true colours for a minute or two. Anyway, it’s over and done now. Over and done.’
But I, sitting cosy by the fire, safe from the October gales howling round the house, shivered slightly and felt afraid, as if the story had awakened some evil presence and someday soon it would swoop down and overwhelm us all.
End