NOTE: A chapter of this story somehow got deleted, vanished, I don't know - its chapter three, it is now up if you'd care to read it.
Chapter Eight
Platform 9 ¾ , September 1st 1944
Kings Cross was flooded with people, a crispness had entered the air – and Gwyn had spent the past several hours trying not to cry.
Tom's bags had never even been unpacked, and he had spent most of the summer either locked in his room or disappearing into the city. Now, their last summer at Wools was over – Gwyn knew he wouldn't come back after this final year, that it had been her last chance...and she'd lost it.
Most of Gwyn's summer had been taken up by women and girls groups, making an effort to help with the war. Tom couldn't be bothered by it, and honestly Gwyn would much rather read at the side or spend her days in the last beautiful spots in the city. Beauty seemed so fleeting these days.
The orphanage had narrowly been missed by a bomb that summer, amazingly so. Gwyn was suspicious of Tom, but he refused to admit to anything – especially how tightly he had gripped her in the cellar that night as the bomb whistled past.
He had even begun to grow closer to her, inviting her out on his wanderings; neither of them wanted to be at Wools, and it was nice to have company on their sooty, long walks. They would rummage through abandoned bomb sites, and when Gwyn came home from helping at raids Tom would be waiting with a cup of tea. He would listen while she recounted the bodies, the injuries – the heartbreak and loss she witnessed nightly. Somehow, though she'd rather be reading, she couldn't refuse to be in the middle of the action. It hurt her very core, but it was something she just had to do.
Standing in Kings Cross, holding hands, Gwyn could feel the finality of this goodbye. "You're not coming back, are you?" the pearls Tom had given her felt heavy and cold against her collar bone.
Tom looked out over the crowds, squeezing her hand without much thought. "I'll come say goodbye."
"Do you promise?"
Promises were not Tom's strong suit. He looked over at Gwyn, her coppery curls twisted back – a few strands had escaped, twisting at the nape of her neck. Her dress was shabby and faded, but her will – he had never met anyone as fierce as Gwyn. She had been his ally for seventeen years, he owed her this one promise. It was an odd feeling, to owe, but Tom accepted it. It was Gwyn, after all.
"I promise."
Knowing he would be cross, but sure she would regret it if she didn't, Gwun flung herself at Tom, kissing him.
Surprised, but not exactly appalled, Tom did not push her away immediately. For a few moments he allowed himself to kiss Gwyn back, enough to realise she tasted like berries and cream – fresh. Gently, he stepped back.
"Goodbye, Gwyn." He said, in a soft voice very unlike him.
"Tom..." she gulped, stepped back; her hands shook. "Goodbye."
Gwyn was swept up by the crowd as he walked off, meeting Avery and Lestrange at the barrier.
"Who was that, Riddle?" Avery snickered. He has grown into even more monstrous in size over the summer. "She looks like a Muggle, do you kiss Muggles now?"
"She went to Beaxbatons," lied Tom swiftly. He tried his best not to reveal how unnerved he was by the kiss – Gwyn had never kissed him like that. As if it meant something.
"What's her name?" asked Lestrange, obviously suspicious. He keened his gaze back to get a better look at Gwyn. "She's fit."
"Her name isn't important, and neither is she." Tom's words were clipped, and he moved towards the barrier. "Come on, or we'll be late."
His friends shrugged, and soon the topic shifted to the girls they had wooed over the holidays, brooms they had purchased. Tom kept the highlights of his summer private – he had found out so much on the dark arts, and he had the perfect plan for the following year. In the back of his mind, he recalled the long walks with Gwyn, staying up late listening to her talk about the raids. The fear that had gripped his heart when she hadn't come back one night. The bomb.
Gwyn knew he had deflected it with magic. She knew and said nothing.
Just before he ran through the barrier, Tom glanced back – there was Gwyn, slumped against a wall, her eyes trained to the high ceiling. No, he would not break his promise. He would come back one last time, for her.
A/N: So yeah, it's been eight months. Whoops. But I do plan on finishing this story. Stick around if you'd like.
Rose
YOU ARE READING
The Years of Riddle
Fanfiction"From a very young age he realized it was good to have someone to vouch for you, to believe you were good - especially if you enjoyed doing bad things." Tom Riddle couldn't love. There was no changing that, but was it possible for someone to love...
