The Years of Riddle

Chapter Twenty | London, August 1953

Chapter Twenty

London, August 1953

London was in the middle of a heat wave, rolling over the city in hazy waves. The flat was hot, everyone was restless; that evening Anthony would take them to his parents' house in the country, since Silas had the Monday off from school.

Silas attended primary school a short walk away from their home, where he had Muggle friends and learned everything Gwyn had. Anthony had agreed when Gwyn suggested it, as surely he would be bored – besides, he should know both his parents worlds.

It amazed Gwyn that she had a four-and-a-half-year-old son, someone with thoughts and opinions, questions and ideas. And soon, in just a few months, they would have another.

The decision to have another child had not been easy. Silas' birth had almost killed Gwyn, but medicine had come a long way in the last few years, and the doctors assured them that if she was careful, took great care and did not strain herself, that this second pregnancy would be easier, less dangerous.

The process of having another child had been awkward, rather hilarious, but quick. Anthony and Gwyn had shared a bed for almost seven years, being physical lovers for a few months did not faze them too much. Silas was overjoyed by the prospect of a younger sibling, and he asked constantly when, when would his little sister be arriving? He asked again when Gwyn picked him up from a play date at a child from school's house.

"Mamma, when will my little sister be here?" he asked, trailing his fingers along a wrought iron fence.

"Not for another few months, Si." Gwyn stopped them to cross the street, looked both ways, told Silas to do so, too. "And remember, we don't know it's a girl."

"It is, Mamma." Insisted Silas. He bounced up and down, tugging on her hand. "Besides, I already told everyone at school that I was having a sister, so she's gotta be."

Gwyn chuckled, leading them into the park that was the shortcut home. "We'll see, honey."

Silas was chatting away as they walked, when suddenly the hair on the back of Gwyn's neck prickled, and her whole body went cold. She stopped walking, turning around slowly. She saw him then, slumped on a bench. He was asleep, head titled to the canopy of trees above. There was an air of death about him, the essence of rot – he appeared like a skeleton in his robes.

Gwyn wondered what he was doing there, in broad daylight – in the park across from their flat. What truly scared her however, was how she could see Silas in his features. Even like this, a shell of what he had been in their youth, she could pick out bits of her son.

"Mamma?" Silas tugged on her skirts. "Who're you looking at?"

"No one," she pulled him away, out of the park, her other hand resting on her stomach. She felt faint, as if she'd seen a ghost. Dear God, she hoped it was a ghost.

Anthony came home shortly after, finding Gwyn on the sofa, trembling and clutching a napping Silas.

"Gwynnie? Honey – what's wrong, what happened?" he rushed over and knelt by her side, taking her quivering hands in his.

"I saw him." She whispered, taking one hand back to stroke Silas' coppery hair. "In the park, across the street. In broad daylight."

"You saw Voldemort?" Anthony's blood ran cold.

"Don't call him that." Said Gwyn harshly, and then paused, remembering Silas was asleep. Their son shifted in his sleep, but did not wake. "That is the name he gave himself, I refuse to give in to that. He is Tom, and I won't call him by his other name ever, it's a power play."