For the Greater Good || Tom Riddle ||

Chapter Forty: Dark Games

If you have not read the additional section of the last chapter updated as of Valentine's Day, please scroll to the end and read to be caught up with what is happening in this chapter. Thank you.

The Room of Requirement appeared—the light at the end of the tunnel. As she entered the room, it morphed into a space painted entirely white. There was no furniture in it, just blank empty walls and a sterile floor. All it was, was a box. The only things that remained from its previous form were the windows, which showed a slight dusting of snow on the grounds of Hogwarts and a dull grey sky hanging above the hills.

Gwen took in a shaky breath. The room once held so much and now it reflected nothing. So many hours of conversation, blood and sweat from training, secrets exposed, kisses stolen and pleasurable sighs. She could nearly feel the ghost of Tom's fingertips around her neck, his lips on her collarbone, the warmth burning in the pit of her stomach.

But then she remembered. He had left her, and now she felt nothing.

As she looked upon The Room of Requirement, a strange, indescribable feeling overcame her. It was of empty days, coated in a tranquility and dipped in nostalgia, singed at the edges like an old love letter being banished to the fire. It was the feeling of something extinguished so desperately attempting to hold on.

But in reality, not even the faintest trace of lemon soap and papyrus remained. It was all scrubbed clean.

Gone. Dead.

Gwen slipped through the room soundlessly until she reached the door. Her fingertips brushed against the metal, the reminder of what was real, of all that happened in that room that was now offering her ideal space—nothingness. Just peace. Emptiness. Void.

She didn't take a second look back it as she opened the door and left.

The stone corridors of Hogwarts were cold and silent. Students had left to return home for the holidays as well as most professors. Even if she worried about being spotted, lucky for Gwen, she didn't have to travel far to get to her destination. Dumbledore's office was also on the seventh floor. A few twists and turns and she was there. Much too quick, too sudden, for her to be able to process everything.

As she stared at the oak door, she felt like the breath was knocked out of her. How far she had come. How many people had pointlessly died before she happened to make it? She would never know, but she would carry the guilt all the same.

What if he hadn't managed to do the necessary alchemical transmutations? What if the Blood Pact couldn't be broken? What if there was no hope?

Gwen quieted those thoughts. She couldn't have them at the forefront of her mind. She knew her other option.

She knocked softly on the door.

It felt like forever. Minutes passed. There was no sound. Gwen sucked in an inhale of air. It felt raw inside of her lungs and she ached to breathe it out. For the second time that day, she raised her wand and cast her corporeal patronus. The Thestral appeared, dancing in the air, gliding like mist out into the dimly lit hallway.

"Find Albus," she instructed quietly.

The Thestral flapped its wings before circling her and sliding underneath the door.

Gwen's eyes narrowed.

"Bloody bastard," she muttered.

He had been in there the entire time.

There was no sound or warning before the door opened suddenly. The motion caused Gwen's stomach to dip and her heart to race, not because she was nervous of the person behind it, but rather because his presence meant one thing.