"You've got to be practical about these things" said Belatrix, as she brought the claw-hammer down. Practical, yes, my watchword, thought Tom.

Bella, beautiful Bella, Lucius and Tom stood with their backs to the milky light of a dirty window, in a rough half-circle around a man tied to a chair. The room smelt of damp. Lucius looked bored.

There was another crunch, and the man in the chair slumped down. Bella had a fleck of blood by her nose. Tom wondered, again, how it had come to this... brutality. Sometimes he thought more than loyalty, what held his cause together was sheer guilt over the things they had been forced to do. Shared suffering of the worst kind. Lost friends, lost principles, lost minds.

They had done what they had to. Tom extended one white, long-fingered hand and flicked a clot of bone and hair from his robe. A smear of blood adhered to his palm. He supressed a slight shudder at the sight of his hands - he used to think he would get used too how he looked. He wiped his bloody hand on his robe, but the blood didn't seem to come off.

"Boss?" said Bella, looking at him with worry in her time-ravaged eyes.
"You're right. There's no point in half measures, you did good." Tom placed his hand on her shoulder. She smiled, and he felt his heart twist as his eyes conjured the smile he remembered, before Azkaban. The little that was left of his war-ravaged heart.
"Whose next?" Lucius asked, in that bored drawl he'd affected, ever since Regulus. Nearly twenty years ago, now, but Tom still had to supress a shudder of rage.
"Bones."

The orphans were scared. Above them, the drone of giant engines could be heard, and in the distance, the thunder of falling bombs. Mrs Cole promised them they would be safe, but Tom had long ago stopped believing her promises. They were solid as stone until she'd got her fingers on the gin, then they were solid as smoke. Amy had called her Mrs Switch, both in honour of the switch she used, and the speed at which she went from mummy to monster, and the name stuck.

Amy and Dennis, his two closest friends, sat with Tom shivvering under the heavy oak table he had dragged them under. Looking at the graffiti-scarred wood, he frankly doubted it would help them if a bomb hit, but it wouldn't do to tell the others that. They were scared enough already. He was scared too, but it did him good not too let on. He felt like an ant under a glass, like each German bomber was a sadistic child peering down at him from the air, deciding whether to burn him first or last.

Somehow, keeping his lip from quivering made Tom feel a little less helpless. It made him feel like he was not giving the germans their satisfaction. When he was getting a checkup by the nurse, Martha, he had heard Bernard say - Bernard, Martha's air-defence corp beau - that the Germans were targeting cities for 'psychological reasons'. He'd asked Martha what that meant, and she had said it meant the Germans wanted to scare us.

Tom would not be scared.

"Quiet, quiet, everybody quiet. Mrs Switch is back" Dennis whispered frantically. Nobody wanted to be caught talking after lights-out by Mrs Cole. Anything might happen.

Tom heard a bang and a muttered swearword from the corridor outside the dormitory. The orphans flinched and huddled deeper into their dirty blankets. Mrs Cole was drunk.

There was the flick of a light-switch, and the door to the corridor was framed with golden electric light. Tom shut his eyes tightly.

"Children! Children! Mommy's home!" came the voice from behind the door, slurred by gin and self-loathing. This was always how it started. The orphans hunched down into their beds, not wanting to be singled out.

"Children, why don't you answer?" Tom could hear the edge of anger growing on her voice, and he clenched his eyes shut, hoping against hope that she wouldn't come in. Maybe she was going to go into the dormitory across the corridor.

"Let's see what's got your little tongues" came her voice through the door. Tom heard the rattle as she put her hand on the door-knob.

Something clicked within his mind, and Tom opened his eyes in surprise.

There was a rattle as the doorknob stuck, and Mrs Cole cursed. There was another rattle, then a bang. Then another bang, as the door was wrenched back and forewards. Then a moment of silence.

"Children, open the door."

Nobody moved.

"Children, open the door or mommy will get cross."

Mrs Cole was already cross. Tom could hear it in the ugly menace of her heavy breath, beleing her sweet tone.

"Open the door!" she screamed, and the orphans flinched. The door rattled, shaking back and forth as she threw herself at it. Amy began to cry, holding her pillow over her mouth.

Tom closed his eyes tightly, and tried not to think about the morning coming.