For the Greater Good || Tom Riddle ||

Chapter Twenty-Four: London Town

Before she knew it, Gwen was yanked inside by the sleeve of her cloak and a wand was centimeters away from her button nose. She became momentarily cross-eyed as she reeled backward to create more space between her and the magical object.

"Were you followed here? Did he send you?"

Gwen gulped and raised a hand to peacefully stave off the man who was now looking around with paranoia. Henry Potter had a stern yet soft brow, a wrinkled forehead, and bushy eyebrows. Even though his face had a grandfatherly quality, his eyes were ablaze with a fierceness that unnerved Gwen, quite offsetting when paired from his smile-worn crow's feet.

"No," she was still able to answer confidently.

The man was soon joined by what looked to be his twenty-something year old son. Their appearances were so uncanny that it almost looked as if the later had taken an aging draught and used a Geminio charm. Both sported circular wire-framed glasses and black hair; although the older man had a balding spot. His son did not hold the same suspicion in his brown eyes and quickly tried to remove his father's grasp from Gwen's cloak—embarrassed by his father's actions.

"Dad! Let go. Come on."

He obviously had no idea who Gwen was. But Henry Potter did—she could see it in his measured gaze. The gruff old man took several steps backward and smoothed out his clothes with patting hands.

"I am so sorry," the younger man swept a hand through his raven-colored hair, "my father used to be a Wizengamot member. Sometimes he's still a bit... uptight."

"It's alright, I understand his caution." Her eyes cut toward the older man. "I think you know who I am."

"Eilowyn," Henry muttered with distaste, but the look in his eyes spoke nostalgia and something else.

Pain. A secret, buried pain. Memories that had not been entertained in many years.

"I'm her granddaughter."

"Who's Eilowyn?" the young man questioned confusedly.

Henry supplied off-handedly, "A relative." His tone was trite.

Gwen moved forward and stuck her hand out to the young man. "I believe that we're something like fifth cousins. My name is Gwendolyn Gawmdrey. Pleasure to meet you?" the words dangled off of her lips.

"Fleamont," he smiled as he took her hand.

Gwen felt the urge to make a snide comment, but kept it to herself. Although they were related by blood, Gwen did not necessarily view them as family and did not want to cause any strife.

And it proved to be a good choice as Fleamont Potter often got into fights during his time at Hogwarts, both with his fists and his wand, when jests were aimed toward his first name. He now attributed his dexterity at dueling and his strong left hook to the years of torment.

"Gwendolyn, what's brought you to Godric's Hollow? We're a bit off the beaten path for a spring holiday," Fleamont laughed. "Unless somehow your owl got lost and we totally should have cleaned the house before your arrival?"

"That's definitely not the case," Gwen assured.

"So, why have you paid a visit to our household?" Henry questioned a bit more reservedly.

Gwen clenched her grip around the shrunken trunk in her pocket. "Actually, I come bearing a gift. I think it's something my grandmother would want you to have," she shifted her attention toward the aging, portly man.

Henry looked confused, but it seemed that he had become less defensive. He licked his lips, just now coming to terms with the fact that he had yet to take on the role of a gracious host.