For the Greater Good || Tom Riddle ||

Chapter Twenty-Two: Exhausted into Silence

Warning: This chapter contains content that is triggering for some readers. I will provide links to resources in the author's note and comments. Read at your own discretion.

The fading was slow. It was like the yellowing of sun-stained paper, the evaporation of a puddle on a sidewalk, the disappearance of wool from a beloved stuffed animal, rubbed raw from love.

The memories of childhood experiences, whether a tear-jerking scrape or a silly dance that sent mothers and fathers into fits of laughter, all but vanished by the time adulthood rolled around. Entire segments of life and livelihood were forgotten in fleeting tendrils of silken thoughts that drifted on the wind into oblivion. This was normal.

But ever since that dreadful night when she nearly made an Unbreakable Vow—the night Tom had invaded her mind—Gwen began to notice things, small discrepancies she hadn't noticed before. It was as though a veil had been placed over some of her thoughts, and every time she reached out to touch one, poke it, examine it a little closer, it fell apart in her hands like the most brittle of elements.

The dreams with the vanishing cabinet were a breaking point.

And she wanted to know why.

Dumbledore still stood in front of the door, dressed in robes of deep red. He even wore a small fez with a bell. He appeared like he had been in the middle of something as the Mirror of Erised was uncovered and there were papers scattered all over the floor.

It was so late in the night that Fawkes had returned from his hunt and perched on his brass pedestal. His head was tucked under his iridescent colored wing. He was sleeping. Still, Gwen hadn't woken Dumbledore up; she slightly prided herself on that fact.

She shifted forward in her chair.

"You have a Pensieve."

She had seen it last time she was in his office, sitting on a table, but she had barely registered it. Now, it was tantalizing.

A Pensieve was a magical object used to review memories. Gwen had never used one, but she knew that memories could be viewed from a non-participant, third-person point of view or at one's own leisure once siphoned from the mind. Owing to the highly personal nature of extracted memories, and the potential for abuse, most Pensieves were entombed with their owners along with the memories they contained.

"I do."

"I need you to help me reclaim some of my memories," Gwen restated listlessly. Her mind wandered to the mirage that sat in her skull, locked away, a forbidden oasis even though it was hers to pillage. "I have reason to believe that they have been tampered with." She didn't want to come forth with the information that Tom had used Legilimency on her. She grew more brazen to cover up the avoidance. "I have a right to them, and I want to know."

Dumbledore seemed to mule something over; he scratched his auburn beard and scowled with cerebration. There was a beating silence, Gwen could feel her heart expand and contract in her chest as he considered her request.

"Gwendolyn," said Dumbledore patiently, "I'm not sure –"

Gwen pressed unrelentingly, "Professor, please. I haven't slept in weeks. I keep being haunted by this ghost, this ghost of a memory! It's robbed me of any semblance of serenity. I even stole a vial of the Draught of Peace from Potions the other day—it didn't work. I beg you. I firmly believe you're the only one that can help me."

And she truly believed that—if he couldn't help her, no one could.

The only other wizards Gwen could think of with the skill it would take were Grindelwald and Tom, but they were definitely not an option.