Chapter Eleven
London, October 1945
A crisp wind nipped at Gwyn's heels as she walked briskly down Charring Cross, her books held tightly to her chest. Her coppery curls were tied back with her one luxury item – a silver clip, found in the park one summer day. With a smart coat and clean boots, she could pass for well off.
Life had begun to look up for Gwyn Phi. She had wiggled her way into getting a job at the University of London Library. The old man who basically just shushed people had a soft spot for her, as he'd seen her sneaking in for years and years – and now she was paid for it. As an employee of the school, she could take one course a semester – and Gwyn loved it.
When her class was over, her work done, she would take the long walk home. She had a tiny little flat, where another girl's parents thought she lived, but really she was shacked up with her boyfriend. It was cheap, rather shabby, but it was the first home Gwyn had ever chosen for herself.
On her long walks home, she would pass the spots Tom had revealed to be magical, hoping that she might spot him. She knew, somewhere between this old bookshop and music store, was a Wizard pub, the entry to a magical world. As much as she tried though, Gwyn could never find it.
She was passing the bookshop for the fourth time, staring at the ground, when she walked into something – or someone – so hard all her books and papers dropped to the ground.
"Sorry!" a deep voice said; it belonged to a man made of various shades of gold and honey.
Where Gwyn was rather dark, wild looking, he was fair and elegant. A pair of sky light blue eyes peered at her from behind wire rimmed glasses, a kind smile; he had dropped to his knees, retrieving her things from the pavement.
"I, oh – it's okay." She tugged at the sleeves of her coat, recently hemmed with velvet ribbon.
He rose slowly, still holding her books. "I'm Anthony Lacroix."
"Hm." She glanced nervously at her belongings.
"You pass by here all the time." He noted, handing them over. "What's your name?"
"Gwyn," she said, checking to make sure nothing had been lost. "Gwyn Phi."
"Are you looking for Diagon Alley?"
Gwyn froze, and she raised her gaze slowly. "You know Diagon Alley?" she whispered.
"Yeah, you're a witch, aren't you?"
"No," she said, excitement blooming in her chest. "But my friend is a wizard."
"Oh, oh blast – your papers, though."
The top paper was a list of odd words Gwyn had heard Tom mutter over the years. "My friend," she said again. "I'm searching for him."
"I can't be talking to you," he said, almost thoughtfully. "But your...friend, he's told you about us?"
She shrugged. "Sort of. We, well – we grew up together, and then he went off to Hogwarts."
"Hogwarts!" Anthony exclaimed. "When did he graduate?"
"Just this spring,"
"What's his name?"
"Tom," Gwyn prayed Anthony could help her, she was so desperate. "Tom Riddle."
Anthony seemed to freeze, his features twisting into a polite mask. "Riddle, huh?"
"Yes, do you know him?"
"Know of him."
"He's very accomplished." Said Gwyn proudly.
Anthony studied her, seeming to make several deductions very quickly. "Gwyn Phi, would you like to get a cup of tea with me?"
"Oh." Gwyn blinked, surprised. "Sure. That'd be lovely. Yes. Um, please."
"Perfect, my flat's not far." He offered her his arm, and Gwyn, still a little stunned, accepted.
They walked through the autumn air, arms linked; Anthony chatted about the Muggle music shop he worked in, how he was almost finished his Healer studies, Gwyn mentioning very little about her own life.
Anthony's flat turned out to be very nice, with big windows facing the park across the street. Soft evening light poured through, warming the light furniture in varying shades of grey and pale blue. There were books everywhere. Gwyn loved it instantly. She wanted to curl up on the window seat with the heavy knitted blanket, sit at the little wooden table with a cup of tea – lie in a puddle of sun on the floor.
"It's a bit of a mess," he said sheepishly. "Sorry."
"It's not a problem." She put her books down on a side table, hanging her coat. She watched Anthony move about in the buttery sun, his hair glinting. "You have a beautiful home."
"It's my families; it was my Aunt's for a long time, but she's moved out to the country to be closer to my Mum." He put the kettle on with a flick of his wand, sending a thrill through Gwyn. She hadn't seen magic in so long.
"So," he said, setting the tea down on the little table by the window seat. "How do you know Riddle?"
Gwyn spooned sugar into her tea, stirring slowly. She couldn't look Anthony in the eye. "Both of our mothers gave birth to us in Wools Orphanage, and we grew up there together."
"What happened to your mothers?"
"They died."
"Oh." Anthony sat back, a whoosh of air leaving him. "I'm very sorry, Gwyn."
"I never knew her, so it...well, it doesn't matter much." A cold fist was gripping her windpipe, like a toddlers hand crushing a bouquet of weeds in its fist.
"My mother managed to name me before she died, but no Phi ever came along to claim me, and there was no record of a Poppy Phi anywhere. She didn't exist."
"Have you searched for her, for any Phi?"
"I've never had the hope." She shrugged. "I have Tom, and my books...besides, the matron looked and looked, and eventually – I just fell through the cracks. I have a weak heart," she explained, "No one wanted a baby that could die at any time."
"But you didn't." Anthony smiled.
"No," she looked out the window, watching leaves twist and shimmy towards the ground. "I didn't."
Gwyn remembered the children taunting her, calling her broken, defected. Billy had been one of her worse tormentors, she suddenly remembered. His rabbit had died the day after he called her a defective whore (though they were so young, Gwyn now knew he must not have realized what the word meant, only that it was mean). Tom had been scarily cool towards Billy after that; had pulled Gwyn up by her elbow and marched her off to his room.
"I'll get him for that." He'd said.
"He didn't mean it," Gwyn had stuttered. "Besides, I don't even know what that means –"
"You are not defective." Tom had given her a long, searching look. "If you're defective so am I, and I'm not – so that's that."
"Tom, don't do anything..."
He hadn't said a word, just offered her a stolen sweet.
"I'm very glad we met, Gwyn."
The icy hand retreated, and Gwyn felt warm for what seemed like the first time in ages. "Me too."
A/N: Hm, Gwyn's making friends. And with Wizards!
Question: Thoughts on Anthony?
Going on break next week, so hopefully I'll get more chapters up soon!
Rose
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