Chapter Seven:
December 20th, 1944
The chill of the December cold seeped into the bones of Faith Summers, causing her small shoulders to hunch, in an attempt to ward of the bitter breeze. She clutched the glass pint of milk to her chest, her fingers numb from holding something that offered no warmth. It was a dark, frosty winter, unbelievably so, which was why Faith had quickened her pace, longing for the heat of the fireplace she would soon be stepping into, the green flames taking her to the little cottage that she longed for, back to her true home in Ireland.
Even now, after years spent in London, Faith did not find solace, no peace in the dingy grey streets, nor the claustrophobic feel as rows of buildings towered over her, caging her in. No, Faith longed for vivid green hills, the musty smell of fresh wood burning on a roasting fire. She missed the endless roads, ones that were deserted and could seem as though she was the only person left in the world. If it wasn't for her holidays spent back in Ireland, Faith was sure that London would have driven her mad.
Faith's chest clenched at the very thought of returning to her little cottage, her little Irish home the following evening. It was tradition for the whole Summers family to spend their holidays in the north west of Ireland. Sean was coming home from America, bringing back a girl he had found there. Eliza, she was called. Eric was bringing home some friends from Hogwarts, most likely the usual – Avery, Lastrange, Black, all the purebloods that would impress Faith's parents. Like every year, Faith brought home no one. She did not want the hassle of being the entertaining host throughout her holidays, since she longed for these two weeks since September. No, her brothers could uphold the perfect façade however much they liked, but this was Faith's only moments alone, where she could be as foul tempered as she liked, as rude and herself without the whole of Hogwarts judging her.
As Faith drew closer to her London home, she marvelled at how unbelievably ordinary the tall, grey brick terraced house looked alongside it's brothers and sisters. It was a far cry from what she truly called home, small but cosy – free of the feel of claustrophobia, of the walls pressing against her. Number twenty-six loomed, a chipped and gnarled plank of navy blue wood that served as the only piece of colour against the uniform grey that was London.
Inside, Faith was greeted by the tinkling laugh of Bridget Summers, the proud matriarch of the Summers' household. To her daughter's ears, Mrs Summers' laugh sounded too high, too false, too perfect to be genuine. The narrow hall way stretched out in front of Faith, it's long path leading ahead into the tiny box-size kitchen, stairs to her right and the dining room to her left. Following the low murmur of voices, Faith turned left, peering around the proud oak door that had been left ajar.
"Sean!" The familiar looking blue eyes and copper-wire hair had no warning of their little sister's hurdling approach, but only had time to wrap long, solid arms around her small frame and laugh at her enthusiasm. "I missed you," she sighed, a content sound that seemed to ease the weight between her shoulders.
Giving his sister one last squeeze, Sean Summers beamed down at the head buried in the crook of his arm, leaving vivid curls – not unlike his own – for show. "I miss you too," the memorable Irish brogue seemed to hold a foreign twang of Americanism. "Faith –" Sean nudged at his sister, drawing her attention to somewhere else. "I want you to meet someone. Faith, this is Eliza. Eliza, this is Faith, my little sister."
Faith watched as a tall, slender blonde rose from her mother's over-stuffed, uncomfortable rose patterned sofa, eyes a clear honey brown. While Faith could note that her nose was a little too small for her face, her eyes a little to wide and doe-like, her mouth was perfect, proudly owning a cupid bow, framed with laugh lines that only made her seem all the more youthful. Faith knew what her mother would think of Eliza's looks; common, but Faith could see why her brother had left his home and family to move to America.
Taking Eliza's offered hand, Faith smiled apologetically, knowing that spending even ten minutes in Bridget Summer's presence was enough to last a lifetime. "Lovely to finally meet you," Faith grinned. "Though I'm all sure we know why Sean would want to withhold a visit." Eliza bit her lip whilst Sean had to muffle a choked laugh into a cough.
"Faith," her mother said coldly from behind. "Would you mind helping me with lunch, while our guests have time to freshen up?" As reluctant as Faith was to leave her brother, she complied with her mother's unyielding tone. Her father had always said that his wife was a force to be reckoned with. Dutifully, Faith followed her mother into the small kitchen, a neat and modern thing by the standards of her time. As she shut the door behind her, Faith marvelled at how, in an instant, her mother had changed.
There was no denying the beauty of Bridget Summers, a small woman that held exotic curves and a mane of thick chestnut curls that held only the slightest show of silver-grey stands. Her complexion was a smooth, unblemished white with a small dainty mouth and shapely cheekbones. Yet it was her eyes that had captivated Faith's father. Large and angular, and framed with thick dark brown lashes; Bridget's green eyes glowed like a cat's. Vivid jewels, beacons of green light. Faith could only stand in awe as she watched her mother changed from the proud, superior, blood-righteous witch, into a beautiful, almost approachable woman. But of course, Faith knew it would not last long.
"A half blood," she heard her mother sigh, though she sounded more dejected than angry as she turned towards the stove. "And I suppose he's going to marry her – regardless of what I say."
Silently, Faith rested the forgotten milk on the table and went to retrieve the plates, wishing for the umpteenth time for the use of her wand. Just until May, a couple more months and then she could use magic. "Where's Eric?" Faith asked suddenly, interrupting her mother's hushed rant. "Meeting his friends," she sniffed, giving a small flick of her wand. "Mind you, that boy could do well with bringing home a nice pureblood girl. He's always bringing home boys – it's a wonder he's not queer!" Mrs Summers scowled, her back still to her daughter. "Imagine, between Eric and Sean, it's a wonder if I'll ever get grandchildren –one's of noble blood, that is. I have given up hope on you Faith, always with your head in the clouds, running off into trouble. I'll be receiving visiting invites to Azkaban rather than a wedding invitation from you. I will tell you now Faith that men do not like a woman who is unreliable. They like their food on the table at the right time, house cleaned and everything in order, I shudder to think of the man with half a brain who would take you on. Brave soul, may sweet Salzar save him – put the kettle on, would you?"
Rolling her eyes, Faith did as she was asked, wondering how her father, the more bearable of her parents, could have fallen in love with his wife. Granted she was beyond the realms of beautiful, yet when she opened her mouth, the woman proved to be insufferable. As she set the table, Faith paused over the extra places she should set for Eric and his guests. "Just Eric and one other," her mother clarified, reading her daughter's thoughts. "Apparently, the Lastranges are going on a holiday to France. Many of Eric's friends are going with them."
Faith felt her nerves began to tingle, as minutes passed, leaving her more and more closer to Ireland. It was an excitement she shared as, even though Mrs Summers continued to be her unbearable self, Faith had caught an odd smile on her mother's lips ever so often. It wasn't just Faith who was returning home, but her parents to, where they would be able to meet with family, friends, those of whom they spent their childhood with.
Yet, when the dinner was set, lunch long gone, Mrs Summers began to hiss loudly under her breath for all to hear.
"That man," she declared. "Off down the pub no doubt. Wouldn't care if it was packed full of muggles – so long as he gets his pint. He knows perfectly well that we'll be leaving early tomorrow and he decides to make things all the more difficult. He'll be complaining about a hangover in the morning – just you waiting and see." Mrs Summers jabbed her wand in direction of Faith, who always seemed to be the one stuck with her mother during such rants, whilst Sean had tactfully suggested that he and Eliza should call down to the local pub to see if they could find Mr Summers down there.
"And don't get me started on Eric," Faith's mother warned, though she knew quite well that she would start, regardless whether or not someone provoked her. "Almost as bad. Half seven on a winter's night like this? I do hope he's not up to trouble with his friend, fighting with the muggle boys like last time. I tell you, it's a good thing your father's a lawyer, otherwise it would have been hard trying to explain to the ministry just how those flowers started growing…there." Faith's mother shuddered at the memory of the muggle boys who had called her dear son, Eric, a pansy. Well, Eric decided to show them what a true pansy was and how they could grow in the most…intimate of areas. Bridget Summers had never felt so embarrassed in all her life, watching her son, alongside her husband; explain to a room full of Ministry Officials at just why her son had reacted so violently to the catty comment. Deep down, Bridget knew that her son wasn't…well, like his older brother Sean, to say the least. She worried about him, about what the not-so understanding world could do to him once they realised that he was different, special.
The sound of the front door opening lurched Mrs Summers out of her silent turmoil and into the present, where her husband was calling for her in a merry voice. "Where is my beautiful wife?" he asked, voice dreamy. "Bridget? Are you in the kitchen my love?" Heavy footsteps could be heard, followed by many more, lighter ones. Red hair and blue eyes pocked around the kitchen door, a face that was so alike to Sean's, but only more lined, with a hint of copper-gold stubble.
"Look at that," Patrick Summers proclaimed, walking further into the kitchen, followed by Sean and Eliza, and two others who stood under the shadows of the threshold. "My Bridget, slaving away at that stove all day. Never gets a day off – won't even allow me to get her a house elf! She's too house proud, my Bridget." The fondness in Mr Summer's tone made Faith smile, but carefully made sure to hide it from her mother, who seemed immune to her husband's flattery.
"Away with you, Paddy and your sweet tongue." Faith's mother replied, looking harassed as she sent food flying to the table with her wand. "There was never a man who spent as much time in the pub as you. Now, sit down and give my head a rest."
Obediently, Paddy Summers did as he was told, though he smiled all the way, his large, muscular frame swallowing up the small wooden chair. "She's something else, isn't she? What do you say Tom, think you can handle an Irish woman like my Bridget?"
Faith's head spun as she looked at the two figures that she had earlier presumed to be Eric and a friend. She watched as they steeped into the light, one her brother, the other Thomas Riddle. As the family took their seats, Faith dutifully went to fetch the water, pouring the contents of the jug into each of the presented glasses. Her hand's felt numb as she watched Tom smile, his eyes strangely light with amusement. "Only if she cook as well as Mrs Summers," he said lightly, giving an answer that Faith knew was well calculated to please both her parents. Faith's father roared with laughter, giving Tom a hearty slap on the back, whilst her mother smiled and mumbled how she just threw something together at the last minute. She avoided his gaze, yet Faith could feel his eyes pressing heavily against her.
Setting the jug of water in the middle of the table, Faith could feel her heart racing as she struggled to overcome her shock of seeing Thomas Riddle. He had taken his place at the right side of her farther, Eric beside him. Faith's mother sat on the left of her husband, her first-born sitting protectively beside her. Eliza sat by Sean, leaving Faith with the gaping hole next to Eric. In Faith's eyes, it could have been worse, now at least, it would take a great deal of effort for Riddle to stare at her.
Sean launched into the story at how Eliza and himself had found Mr Summers, surrounded by muggles, playing cards. Everyone laughed at the appropriate places, though many of the Summers family had heard countless stories that were similar. "And then," Sean continued, his fork poised in the air, waiting until he had the whole room's attention. "I see these two," he waved his fork in the direction of Eric and Tom. "Coming from the bar, carrying pints to father." Sean shook his head. "I tell you, I have never seen the sight of it in all my life. They were like three old men, hunched over their pints," Eliza giggled, her cheeks rosy and eyes alight as she looked up at Sean. For the briefest of moments, the whole world was invisible to them. There was mutual adoration in each other's eyes that seemed to glow from within. Faith had often watched her own parents look at each other that way, namely when they thought they were alone. It was a private moment, one that made felt feel like an intruder, a Peeping Tom who was leeching off other people's happiness.
Feeling embarrassed for her brother and his ladylove, Faith looked away offering them some semblance of privacy. Her green eyes caught dark brown staring at her. The look Thomas Riddle was giving Faith was unnerving. She could almost fool herself into believing that Tom's look was almost like the one Sean was giving Eliza. That he wasn't looking at her body, her face but her. Like he could see right through her, that he could unearth every secret, hope and dream that laid buried within her, waiting for him to unlock them.
But it wasn't and Faith knew it, she knew as she stared back into his eyes that he, like her, craved to be looked at the way Sean and Eliza looked at each other. They both wanted it, and neither was willing to give it.
When his intense gaze persisted, no doubt to invoke the same look of utter adoration that Eliza had, Faith just scowled, returning her gaze back to her meal. But not before she caught Eric watching Tom from the corner of his eye. Whatever look Thomas Riddle has sought from Faith's face, he had it in the form of Eric Summers.
Present Day, 2010
"Your brother and your husband?" the absolute shock in Albert Tennyson's face was beyond belief. In a way, his reaction settled something in Faith, something that been pacing restlessly within her for years. Faith had never wanted to believe that her suspicions were true; regardless of the proof lunged towards her later on in her life. It pleased her to know that there had been some rightness in her feelings towards this discovery, that her anger was justified, as was her sense of betrayal. From both Eric and Tom.
"Nothing ever happened," Faith sighed. "To Eric's bitter disappointment. My family had always known that Eric was different, but my mother refused for him to be treated any way different from the rest of her children. Tom had the innate ability to find your deepest desires and to use them to his advantage. He knew of Eric's…infatuation for him and saw it as a way of getting closer to me." Faith shrugged, offering a half-hearted smile. "In the end, it worked. He had the girl and a loyal and devoted follower, though I seemed to have lost a brother that day."
"What day?"
Green eyes turned away, looking for something within the grey clouds that formed overhead. "The day when everything changed, when we both realised that we were too deep to save ourselves, so we decided to drown together, rather than alone." Faith smiled, a soft, sad thing that changed her in a heartbeat. "I just didn't know I was dragging down everyone I loved with me."
