Chapter 2 - Cold

Wool's wasn't the worst of all places. I thought myself relatively lucky to be here and not on the streets. Mrs. Cole was as nice as I could have hoped for and looked after us well. She remembered all of our birthdays and always have us a small gift when the day came. Nothing fancy, perhaps just a few colored pens to use in our spare time, or a small magnifying glass for the outdoors. None of it was of much substantial use, but we all knew that frugality was of the utmost importance here. The fact that we received anything at all was much appreciated by us all.

We revolved on our own. There were children I was friendly with, but I had no friends. A lot of the orphans were like that, except Tom, who had no friends and wasn't friendly with anyone either. I thought the older ones were a little better off. They had friends at school. But no one ever really was at Wool's too long. People came and went. On the days when visitors arrived, we all wore our best and waited in our rooms, and one by one, Mrs. Cole would introduce us. They'd speak to us for a few minutes, then leave. Some were tactful about disguising their disinterest; others less so. It didn't make a difference to me. I knew I was too timid to like much.

It was easier to endure in the warm months. We could go out into the courtyard for some air. There were a few patches of flowers that we could look after, and sometimes we brought out balls or a skipping rope. When we had something to do, the disappointment wasn't as acute.

But winter was solemn. It was especially cold in the dormitory corridors, where the walls were brick, and not wood like down in the dining hall. We didn't have hearths in our room, so we padded extra towels at the bottom of the doors and windows to block the drafts. A feeling of isolation and loneliness set in upon us. Wool's was...slower during the winter. I noticed fewer visitors called then.

And when there was one lucky child who was selected from our orphanage, the new parents would come, put an arm around their new son or daughter, and the three would leave. Sometimes there would be siblings, and it would be a group of four or five. Before the child was whisked away, we would all gather around for congratulations, or at least some did. Alice certainly was not shy about hiding her resentment, and many of the little ones were simply to small to try. I tried to be happy for whoever it was, but I, too, found it hard to genuinely not feel any bitterness. I was only glad such occasions were rare here.

We were an odd bunch. Some orphans were there because their parents were too poor to keep them on. Others were here because they had run away from their homes. Their parents had lost custody over them for hurting them, or something like that. I didn't really understand it. Most of us were here because our parent were dead. Many had known their parents before arriving at Wool's. Sometimes these children were taken to visit their parents' graves, usually around Christmas. I always counted myself as one of the lucky ones. I figured my parents were dead, though I didn't remember them at all. I had no idea how they had died, either. Mrs. Cole had a big leather-bound volume with all the details she could uncover about any family we orphans had, and the various members'...status. My file was nearly non-existent. No siblings or uncles or aunts or grandparents to speak of. It didn't bother me particularly. I was curious, of course, about my relations, and I wouldn't turn down an invitation to learn more about them. But their mystery never bothered me, at least in the way it seemed to bother Tom.

It seemed all Tom ever wanted to know about was his family. He already knew more than I did, though. His mother was confirmed to be dead; she had died right on the front step of Wool's giving birth to him. Told Mrs. Cole with her last breath that he was to be named after his father, Tom Riddle, Sr.. Ever since he learned this, Tom would spend hours at the library, looking through the dusty archives, trying to find something about his father.

As for me, I didn't care as much. Whoever my parents were, they were gone. I had accepted this a long time ago. No amount of digging through the books would change the fact that I was still alone. They were so distant; I had no memory of them. I didn't need any, nor did I really want any. What I did want was someone to love me and for me to love back. Whether or not we shared any blood meant nothing to me.