For the Greater Good || Tom Riddle ||

Chapter Seven: Licorice Snaps

Dragon's blood was not a cocktail to be consumed by the faint hearted. Gwen fought the urge to plug her nose as she raised the small shot glass to her lips. A violent cough erupted from her chest as its metallic, bitter taste coated her mouth and nearly made her want to gag.

"Here, have a licorice snap!" Dumbledore urged as he pushed the bowl full of lively black candies toward Gwen.

Not in the state of mind to even consider being bashful, Gwen hurriedly grabbed a handful of the candies. Dumbledore let out a soft laugh as he watched her earnestly chew them. She shook her head and grimaced dramatically.

"That was awful."

"Well," Dumbledore sighed amusedly, "I did warn you that dragon's blood isn't as pleasant as candyfloss." He fiddled with a gadget on his desk briefly before he set it back down. "However, you should find that your injury will no longer be a bother."

"Right now, I am reconsidering my decision. I think the dragon's blood did more damage to my spirit than the fall did," Gwen scoffed, rubbing her arm gingerly. She could still taste the vile drink.

Dumbledore smiled, and pushed his glasses up to rest on the bridge his nose. "We both know that is not how you sustained the bruising on your wrist, Gwen."

Gwen averted her gaze to her book, running her fingers over the spine. When she looked up, Professor Dumbledore's smile had faltered and was replaced by a rather concentrated and confused expression.

"What's your favorite story?" Gwen asked quietly.

"From the Tales of Beedle the Bard?" he asked. "It would have to be The Three Brothers," Dumbledore said easily. "Yes, that was my favorite as a child. My brother and I would argue over which story our mother would read us at bedtime. His favorite was Grumble the Grubby Goat."

Gwen huffed as a smile overtook her face. "I hate that story."

"So did I," Dumbledore admitted.

Gwen stared into his deep blue eyes for several seconds, getting lost in their utter brightness. An indescribable urge latched its claws into her heart. Sorrow followed shortly after.

"Professor, may I ask you a personal question? What do you see in the Mirror of Erised?" Gwen's large blue eyes flitted with a nervous expectancy. She was eager for his answer.

Dumbledore was very quiet and very still. The wide arrangement of doodads ticked and whirred like an orchestra in the silence. He no longer looked her in the eyes. It felt as if eternity passed before he said anything at all. And what he did say was obviously very shallow and bland.

"I wish to go back to a time when I was younger." A small smile quirked over his lips and he enthusiastically leaned forward as he said, "Back to a time before I lost my favorite pair of wool socks!"

It was not a truth, but it was not a lie. Gwen was able to see that the aging man struggled with his deepest desire. She did not press him further, although all she wished now was for him to spill his story out to her in such an ardent way that it could only be compared to Beautrix Bloxam's infamous Toadstool Tales.

Perhaps it will make my task easier...

Instead, Gwen chose to stand to leave.

"Thank you, Professor Dumbledore. While I don't think dragon's blood has that much of a future being sold as a tonic, it has twelve other fantastic uses."

He merely nodded in agreement. His mind was obviously elsewhere-distracted-haunted even, by thoughts of the past.

"I shall see you in class on Monday."