For the Greater Good || Tom Riddle ||

Chapter Twenty-Four: The Chamber

Gwen stared in awe as she stood at the end of a long, dimly lit chamber. Towering stone pillars loomed over her head, entwined with carved wood serpents whose fangs of ivory glistened in the low-light. Gwen could not tell where the walls began nor ended as the pillars rose to a ceiling lost in darkness, casting long, black shadows through the odd, greenish gloom that filled the place. She could barely see Tom standing in front of her.

Water trickled down the side on the walls, pooling into small channels of murky liquid. The chamber was shadowy, lit by a green hue, and featured massive serpentine statutes carved out of stone. The snakes' scales were prominently etched into the limestone, not polished but extremely detailed in nature.

Her blue eyes roamed the corridor avidly, taking in everything in its strange, menacing beauty. It seemed like a place of ancient power, and Gwen could feel the blanket of Dark Magic, like gleaming specks of onyx dust, hanging in the air. Her thoughts swam into streams and oceans of ideas.

What is this place?

It did not seem like the home of a monster.

Gwen treaded lightly behind the boy. A tall statue of Salazar Slytherin appeared at the far end of the chamber, the rock sloped to reveal a nose of stone and eyes of sparkling emerald gems. The presence of such a sculpture screamed of authority and power.

"You're related to him?"

Gwen's voice echoed off of the stone walls, surrounding the pair of gifted students in its richness.

Tom turned, his height truly towering over her shorter frame, as his dark eyes glinted with tempered pride. His back was straight as a rod, his sharp jawline tilted up ever so slightly, exuding an air of superiority, of that of tailored royalty—he was the one in control.

"You see," he began slowly, "I never knew my parents. I always believed that my father was the one who was magical. But at the end of my fourth year, I learned that this was not the case."

His words had come out in a monotone void of any emotion, but his handsome features distorted into a disdainful glower. Gwen's watery irises scanned his face and found that his eyes sung with a certain tortoiseshell mix of disappointment and cold acceptance.

"My mother was a witch, and my father, a filthy Muggle. He left my mother as soon as he found out that she was with child. My mother died shortly after I was born. From what I was told at the orphanage, she was thought to be a lowly circus worker when she came to find refuge. That was not the case. My mother was one of the last descendants of Salazar Slytherin, one of the founding members of Hogwarts and one of the most renowned wizards of his time."

The words hung in the air, nearly sucking the breath out of Gwen's lungs like a vacuum. Tom wore a ghost of a contemptuous leer as he observed her surprise.

"You can imagine that I was elated when I found out—a poor, lonely orphan boy—related to one of the most powerful wizards of all time. The sole Heir of Slytherin himself. I was amazed, but I always knew I was different, even among witches and wizards. The power that runs through my veins is ancient."

The boy's footsteps resounded inside of the chamber like a distant melody, a melancholic song. He stood at the very end of the chamber now, in front of the great statue of his relative, with his hands casually clasped behind his back. Gwen noted that the two bore no resemblance, Slytherin had a severe look about him with a pointed chin and a shrewd brow, while Tom's features were artfully crafted, sloped and smooth.

But Gwen knew that they were more alike than anyone could have ever predicted.

"Why did you take me here, Tom?" she demanded. "If this is your sanctuary and yours alone, why did you allow me to come? Do you plan to kill me? Like you killed that girl Myrtle Warren?"