For the Greater Good || Tom Riddle ||

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Visions

Gwen never intended to stay in Godric's Hollow for more than a few days. However, when Aunt Bathilda came down with symptoms that seemed to be Dragon Pox, she couldn't leave.

It was a well-known fact that elderly patients were much more susceptible to the disease than younger ones, and the women had no living relatives to take care of her besides Grindelwald. And Gwen knew there was no possibility of her grandfather coming to take care of his sickly great-aunt. So she decided to exercise her saintly spirit brought about by the holidays to nurse Bathilda Bagshot back to health.

After digging through several Healer and Magical Medicine tomes, Gwen reasoned that her aunt luckily had a simple case of Dragon Pox. Green and purple rashes bloomed between her toes and tiny little bumps covered her feet. That wasn't the worst symptom though—sparks erupted from Bathilda's nostrils whenever she sneezed. Gwen had to wear a pair of dragon hide gloves to make sure she didn't get burned while tending to her.

Thankfully, Gwen had taken a Practical Potions class at Durmstrang and learned how to replicate the potion Gunhilda Gorsemoor invented. While the cure did not completely eradicate the disease, a lot less people died from Dragon Pox. She hoped that Bathilda would react well to it.

Tom was more than annoyed to have to stay in the little village for the remainder of the week. Christmas was a day away. While he had forged a letter signed by Headmaster Dippet to the Orphanage indicating that he would be spending his holiday at school, he didn't anticipate to be away for this long.

He spent a majority of his time tucked away in the extensive collection of books Bathilda owned. Since she was a respected historian, she had a plethora of limited edition texts and tomes given to her by famous witches and wizards. Surrounded by knowledge, Tom was compliant to sit in the small library with a low-ceiling while Gwen doted on the old woman.

The little cottage was quiet. Although three bodies occupied the space, an outsider would guess that the house was abandoned by snow birds who decided to vacation to a warmer region for the holidays. Tom and Gwen moved around each other without ever acknowledging the other's presence. The incident in Little Hangleton—Tom's disappearance, the Riddles' murder, the hasty get-away orchestrated by Gwen—it had caused tension between the two.

Gwen couldn't get her mind off of the ring that sat on Tom's finger. The Resurrection Stone, the last piece of the puzzle of the Deathly Hallows, within her grasp. She couldn't just take it though. Either she would have to steal it and never return to Hogwarts, which was not an option because she still had recruit Dumbledore, or she had to trick Tom. Which probably wasn't going to happen either. And she wasn't very willing to try, no doubt afraid of the consequences. Tom was unpredictable.

While she was quite skilled at Occlumency, Gwen still feared that one day, Tom would penetrate her barrier and see her deepest, darkest secrets. Whenever they did lock eyes, his predatory gaze made Gwen squirm. She swore that he would smirk at her nervousness, delighted to see her put off by his intensity. Yet something pulled her toward him. His charisma, his effortless grace, the way magic pulsated around him—it was enigmatic. Every time they crossed paths, brushing against one another in the narrow hallway that branched off of their bedrooms, Gwen itched to get closer. It was a compulsory feeling, a dangerous one, and Gwen ignored it every time.

Even if she didn't want to.

She noticed the way Tom's eyes trailed after her, lingering only for a split second. He would saunter into his room without a word. She would be left standing in the doorway, hand hovering over the handle of her bedroom door. She wouldn't even notice that she'd been holding her breath until her lungs started to burn. And then her aunt would hoarsely croak her name, and she would be brought out of her reverie.