The Years of Riddle

Chapter Fifteen | London, April 1948

Chapter Fifteen

London, April 1948

Tom Riddle walked down the dreary streets of London, his heart beating in time to the rain the sky continued to choke out. The streets were unfamiliar to him, unearthing no memories or feelings from his steely heart and carefully protected mind.

He pulled out of his pocket the scrap of paper he had hastily written an address on that morning before leaving. Also in his pocket was a small tin box, charmed to hold an endless amount of objects. Rubbing his finger along the weathered lock in a way that suggested he did it often, Tom thought of the letters, post cards and photographs inside: something that was almost a mixture of regret and fondness stirred in his heart.

Tom avoided this feeling and came to a stop; it was her flat, a place he had never been. It had been easier than he'd expected to find Gwyn, and she hadn't gone far. She was living simply, and Tom did have a speck of admiration for that.

It still amazed Tom that soft-spoken, shy Gwyn had come from being a poor orphan living in a dump of an orphanage to an amazing young woman earning an education. But Tom had always thought if anyone could make it, Gwyn could.

"Excuse me," said a little old lady, looking up and Tom with kind, bug like eyes "Are you lost?"

"No." said Tom sharply, his voice cold and harsh. "Filthy Muggle," he said under his breath. He hadn't realized he'd been standing in the same spot for a matter of minutes, staring at the old brick building, completely unaware of the world around him. This was all so very silly, really; there was no reason he should be nervous about seeing Gwyn, but there was no explanation for why his heart was beating faster than ever before, or that his mind should keep slipping back to that day three years before at Wools. But she had been so excited and open, full of stories and opinions – her eyes had been shining like two drops of amber hidden in a spray of pebbles, and her lips had been so full, her figure soft and slender like it had been since they were fourteen. She had hugged him, kissed his cheek softly as he breathed in her light rose scent. Tom hated to admit it, but he missed her. Or those specific parts, anyway

For three years he had pushed every thought, memory and feeling of Gwyn Phi away, but now...once again, Tom Riddle had to admit he needed his childhood Muggle friend. He had been biding his time since finding her in the park, when she had cried – called him out. She definitely wasn't shy anymore.

Banishing his nerves to the shadowy place he stored all feelings, the door of the building opened with a slight wave of his hand, swinging into the open lobby with a slight whoosh. It was a normal enough building, with a dusty chandelier and a green carpet; a couple dead plants huddled as if in fear in a corner, along with a saggy matching couch and armchairs. An old man snored quietly on the couch, his chin resting on his chest and a dribble of drool created a wet spot on his tweed jacket.

Moving through the lobby, Tom passed the ancient elevator, a sign informing everyone 'OUT OF ORDER, SORRY' and climbed eight flights of stairs to the fifth floor, his heart beating so fast he was afraid it might beat right out of his chest-and it wasn't because of the stairs.

The eighth landing was the fifth floor, and so suddenly he was there, in front of her door; he was taking a deep breath, raising his fist to knock. Tom could sense her presence, practically smell her rose scent and feel her soft lips, the shape of her slender hips pressed up against his.

Desperate to shake the memory away – it brought up too many feelings – Tom waited for the door to be answered; he had used their old 'secret' knock; one short, three long, two short. It was possible Gwyn might not even remember the knock – or him, even – but Tom was hopeful. He still didn't know why he was here at all.