how it feels to be alive {tom riddle}

seven: war

She walked into the bathroom and he decided to dress himself too, shuffling through his clothes to retrieve a pair of solid black jeans and a white long sleeved shirt. Due to the chill of the air he also grabbed a black jacket.

When Lucia emerged, she wore a pair of light blue jeans and a tan linen button up shirt. She looked so different to the night he'd met her, she never ceased to surprise him with her ever changing appearance. She had applied a light covering of makeup and was pulling on a pair of black boots. These boots were not as outrageously high as the ones she'd worn on the night they'd met, but were high nonetheless.

She packed a bag with her belongings, and Tom ran his hands through his hair to tame its dishevelled appearance.

"Shall we go? I'm hungry." Lucia asked as she'd finished packing what she'd need for the day.

"I'm ready." Tom responded, standing up from his bed and shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Okay let's go." She agreed, opening the door and walking out into the hallway.

They went down the elevator and through the reception, stepping out into the brisk morning breeze.

Lucia regretted not bringing a jacket, but not enough to go all the way back to the room to get one.

They walked down the London streets in search of a cafe for breakfast.

They came across a building with a cat sitting on a cauldron on the sign, and due to the irony, they chose to eat there.

They sat down at a table inside, happy to be out of the icy morning wind. The sun was out, but the air had not yet been warmed by it.

"Later today let's get some groceries, otherwise whenever we want to eat we'll have to leave the house." Lucia thought out loud.

They looked at the menus and decided on more coffee paired with croissants.

After they'd finished, they walked to the train station nearby, and boarded the next train that stopped outside the museum.

It was ridiculously busy on the train, so they couldn't get a seat. Instead they stood holding the handles hanging from the roof, swaying as the train moved.

The train came to an abrupt halt at the next stop, causing Lucia to fall back into Tom who was standing behind her. He wrapped one hand around her waist to stabilise her, pressing her back into his front to prevent her stumbling into the others standing around them.

She turned her head and thanked him, laughing at her clumsiness. Their noses almost brushed due to their close proximity, but she turned back all too soon. He kept his arm holding her until the train had moved again with a jolt, but as the smoothness of the movement returned he released her gently.

When they arrived at the stop for the museum, they pushed their way out of the busy carriage and onto the platform.

There were many people at the station too, rushing to get to their day jobs. They were almost separated a couple of times, so Lucia laced her fingers into Tom's and pulled him towards the stairs to go up to ground level.

When they emerged onto the street, a large old building stood across from of them, with a sign advertising a World War 2 exhibition flapping on a post just outside.

Lucia released Tom's hand and both were disappointed by the loss of contact.

They walked up the stone steps to the entrance, and showed the tickets on their phone to the reception.

When they walked into the exhibition, the lights were dim and the sounds of war were playing eerily over speakers into the space.

Different objects retrieved from the war were littered around the room, uniforms damaged from fighting draped lifelessly on mannequins behind thick glass. There were paragraphs of information dotted beside each piece, and Tom read the story behind a particular uniform that had a wilted rose in the pocket. It was to symbolise the dead rose that the man had carried in his pocket throughout his service that he had picked as he left home. He had promised to bring it home to the love of his life. Unfortunately, although the dead rose had been returned to her, it was with his lifeless body. The rose in the pocket in the exhibition was of course a different one, but was symbolic nonetheless.

Lucia walked up beside him, her shoulder brushing his as she too read the story.

"That's so heartbreaking. They were just kids, look." She pointed to a photograph of them both, a mere 17 years of age when the boy had left.

"It's quite unfortunate." Tom sighed, "If he'd have been immortal that wouldn't have happened though." He added, sending Lucia a sideways glance.

She rolled her eyes, "No, then he would have lost her instead and had to live with that for his lonely eternity. At least this way she could have moved on with her life eventually after he was gone."

He thought about this but didn't reply.

After moving past the room of objects from the war, they entered a chain of dark rooms.

In each there was a large wax figure more than twice the size of a regular human. The figures were eerily realistic, appearing so much like real people. The expressions moulded on their faces meant the emotion could be felt by everyone who observed.

Accompanying the sculpture was a description of the persons significance and story, and the sound that came through the speakers into the rooms created an unsettling atmosphere.

Lucia and Tom stood in front of the figure of a young nurse sitting on a stump of wood. She was weeping while reading a flimsy letter. Blood stained her white apron, and the dirt settled on her skin gave her a devastating appearance.

Neither said anything, but they felt each other's presence.

Lucia felt a tear slide from her eye, and Tom looked down at her.

It was curious to see someone so openly emotionally effected by the artwork. He was so used to carefully controlling his feelings, and only expressing those he felt would prove advantageous to him in that situation.

But it's was refreshing to see raw and pure emotion.

He reached up and brushed away the tear that had fallen, then snaked his arm around her waist to pull her into his side as they continued to look at the emotional figures.

***

As they walked out of the museum, rain was falling heavily. Puddles had formed in dips of the concrete and the addition of droplets created many ripples across the surfaces.

Lucia was really regretting her lack of jacket now.

As she went to exit the covering of the roof of the museum, Tom grabbed her wrist to stop her. Shrugging off his jacket, he held it out to her.

"No way! It's so rainy, I don't want you to be cold." She defended.

"Just take it, would you?" He insisted, draping it over her shoulders.

She sighed, "Thank you, you didn't have to do that." She threaded her arms through the sleeves.

"I know, I wanted to." He replied gently.

The jacket was warm and smelt like him.

They stepped out in the rain, and jogged in the direction of the shelter of the train station.

Tom grabbed Lucia's hand, intertwining their fingers together as the rain drenched their clothing.

As they finally entered the cover of the station, they began to laugh.

Lucia's hair was drenched and stuck to her face. Her mascara was slightly smudged under her eyes, but that didn't stop them appearing more alive than ever. It was a different appearance to her messy state the night they'd met despite the similar smudged makeup, the contrast being the joy spread upon her face.

Tom's white shirt was soaked and quite see through, and his dark curls dripped over his face.

Tom and Lucia didn't unlink their hands as they walked down the now less busy steps to the platform, boarding the next train back to the hotel.

authors note

thanks so much for all the support you've been giving lately!

make sure if you haven't already to check out my other work, a draco fic 'the dark within'.

It's a nice contrast to this one, but I've got some twists planned for the future <3