For the Greater Good || Tom Riddle ||

Chapter Twenty-Five: Honey Wine

"Merlin," Gwen mumbled, taking a deep breath.

The streets of London darted by, the scene blurring and the air whizzing as Gwen rolled the car window down to get some fresh air.

It was well-known in the wizarding world that most people vomited the first time they apparated. The feeling had actually never really bothered Gwen, in fact, if she closed her eyes and imagined, it felt like the strong arms of magic were embracing her and giving her a squeeze.

In her mind, the feeling of apparition was nothing compared to the waves of nausea she was experiencing in the back seat of the taxi Jane had hailed to take them to her home on the other side of London. They were to arrive by lunch—Jane's mother was preparing a traditional Jewish meal. Jane was practically wriggling with excitement in her seat next to Gwen. She hadn't seen her family since the winter holiday.

Simon sat up front, talking to the taxi driver with earnest. He asked all sorts of questions: did he enjoy his job, how did he learn to drive, did he have a license, did he and his taxi have a special bond? Even to Gwen's ears, untrained in the interactions of Muggles, the interrogative questions were far from normal. She was certain that the taxi driver regretted ever picking them up off the street as Simon chatted his ear off, eager to learn more about the muggle world.

The streets of London were bogged with traffic. Muggle pedestrians crossed the streets in droves, and Gwen found herself instinctually looking for familiar faces amongst the crowds. She found none, as expected, but her eyes did settle on some figures wearing odd styled articles, most definitely witches and wizards. For even further affirmation of their magic, the fabric of their clothing was dyed purple and green, or even some pattern of both, a clear token of their heritage. It was unspoken tradition that witches and wizards often revealed themselves to each other in public by wearing purple or green.

Gwen took in the manicured trees, smoothened sidewalks, and square buildings. Some buildings were tall and skinny, some were short and stout, most were made of brick and glass. Occasionally, there were words painted on the panes, advertising sales or the names of shops. They drove down the roads, passing hat shops, fragrance stores, markets, and restaurants.

Stamford Hill was too far from Knightsbridge for Jane to consider it appropriate to walk. As they left the neighborhood of Knightsbridge, the wealth of the inhabitants seemed to decrease at a staggering rate. The streets became wider, less intimate, and more drab.

Out of her window, Gwen peered with curiosity. The breeze tugged the curls on her forehead and she breathed in—the industrial stench of factories hit her nostrils and she wrinkled her nose, wishing she could conjure back the aroma of the butter rolls the house-elves had made the previous night—even if the appearance of the dreadful Calynda Selwyn came with it.

Her mind tumbled with thoughts, intrigue about the muggle world, and philosophical musings about how every person she saw on the street had their own distinct, complicated, painful, beautiful life of their own that she would never know about. The world was enormous and London was just a small part of it, but with its bustling inhabitants, honking horns, and war-torn streets, it felt like everything.

And nothing...

Then suddenly, she saw it. It was brief. The car rolled by without a stop and no one else batted an eyelash, but Gwen felt frozen. The rectangular building and the wrought-iron fence. Her eyes fixated on the small glass windows that overlooked the street, the large wooden door, a brass bell fixtured onto the stone wall. The image was branded into her mind.

Wool's Orphanage.

The thought of Tom swelled in her mind like a vision. His sultry locks of silken hair, his eyes like gossamer, like moonlight imbedded in a cobweb, like fire in water.