Chapter 2
June 20, 1943 - Day
Sleep had eventually come: in fits, broken, and restless. He had woken up throughout the night to glance at the door, to listen to the shouts of people coming from the street, or to toss and turn, worrying about what he was going to do to keep himself afloat for two months. So it was with difficulty that Tom dragged himself out of bed the next morning. He was starving. He had refused sweets on the train, like an idiot, and now wished he had stashed some, the way Lestrange and Avery always did because their parents never allowed them any.
He dressed and resolved to make his way to the kitchen, hoping to find something to eat.
Tom opened the door in his new room, and peeked outside. Satisfied that no one else seemed to be awake, he closed the door behind him. The halls were awash in a pale grey light that filtered through the cracks in the boarded windows, so that he could actually see his surroundings this time, and what he saw strengthened his resolve to get out as fast as possible: the wallpaper had bloated and was starting to peel, dark spots and mould were developing on the ceiling, a cold draft descended from the second floor, and he didn't even want to investigate the scratching noises coming from one of the walls.
The final nail in the proverbial coffin came when he navigated to the bathroom and found no running water. Several buckets stood against the wall, some half filled with water, some empty, and he shuddered, deciding to leave quickly instead.
How on earth the muggles could stand to live here was unfathomable. He focused on reaching the kitchen, but when he got there, he was surprised to see that he was not the first one up after all. The muggles were huddled around one of the tables, sharing bits of bacon and potatoes. A meagre breakfast compared to what Tom was used to at Hogwarts. There were glasses of milk and tea strewn across the table.
Bishop noticed him first. He blanched and shrunk down, trying to disappear under the table. The other two acknowledged Tom after that.
Stubbs glared at Tom reproachfully before he stood up and went up to the counters. He pawed inside a drawer and pulled out a small blue book, then he turned around, and threw it at Tom.
Tom caught the thing as it hit him on the chest, and looked down to examine it. It was a worn ration book: most of it had been stamped already, but there were still a few pages left. His name was written in ink on the front page.
"That one's yours," explained Stubbs needlessly. "Good luck earning money to use it, though. You're not seventeen yet, are you?" he asked suddenly.
Tom's magic burned through his veins, reminding him he was not yet seventeen.
"No."
"Then it should still work down at the market, so long as you have the money," said Stubbs, sitting back down. Whalley simply stared, before going back to wolfing down his breakfast.
It became immediately obvious they did not intend to share.
"Well, good morning to you, too," Tom hissed sarcastically, folding up the useless little booklet and stuffing it in his pocket, before turning around and making his way outside, lest he lost himself and ended up throttling Stubbs with his bare hands.
The morning breeze was invigorating and it helped clear his head. Diagon Alley: that was where he was supposed to go. He would find a summer job to support himself, so he could get out of this hellhole.
And so Tom found himself wandering the streets that morning, reacquainting himself with the neighbourhood he was desperate to leave behind. He saw dirty children playing amongst piles of bricks, homeless people begging for coins and being largely ignored, a few men rummaging through rubbish bins and dilapidated houses. It was all, if possible, more miserable than he remembered it being the year before.
Two blocks away from Wool's he found a long queue of people carrying buckets, filling them with presumably clean water. On the way there, he'd seen the broken pipes that the Muggle government had not bothered to fix.
Before long, his feet led him in the direction of the Leaky Cauldron. It was a long walk, but he didn't mind it much. His arrival at Wool's the night before, being attacked by Stubbs, and being forced to cooperate with them so he could stay the night had sent him spiralling. It was humiliating, and it made him angry.
'Breathe,' he thought, halting a new descent into fury.
As he walked, Tom had counted his money multiple times, even though he'd known the exact amount from the start. Five sickles, twelve knuts. He couldn't quell the childish hope that he had miscounted, and if he just kept counting he would find an extra knut.
The morning sun was shining bright by the time he slipped into the Leaky Cauldron, and proceeded into the back without sparing a glance at the owner. The man had not even looked up, used as he was to people trudging through the entrance. The scent of freshly baked bread and sizzling meat reached him from the kitchen, reminding him a full day had passed since the last time he'd eaten something. Hunger made his head spin, but he knew that anything he bought from the pub would set him back too many Sickles, and moved on.
When he crossed the arch, magic wrapped around him like a blanket, and Tom couldn't stop the relieved sigh that escaped him.
It was a lazy Sunday, and the alley was just stirring to life, which suited him perfectly. He found a small cart selling tea and scones ('Freshly baked! Buy one, get one half price!'), and made a beeline for it. He ate the first on the spot, and wrapped up the second one for later. Previous summers at Wool's after the start of the war had taught him it was best to stash food when he had access to it. You never knew when rations would run low, and all you could eat for days was a watery soup.
Tom surveyed the cobbled street as he sipped his tea, hunting for signs advertising that a shop required help, but there didn't seem to be any on the first quarter of Diagon Alley. He huffed, and threw away the empty cup, noting that it disappeared with a soft pop the moment it hit the ground.
It seemed he would have to personally inquire with each shop owner.
He cracked his neck and straightened his jacket. Well, it was a good thing he had never been shy.
Very quickly, it became apparent that he'd run into a dead end, each shop worse than the last.
"Oh dear, I'm afraid we don't have any openings. I'm sorry," said the witch at the apothecary.
"You want a job? So does half of London, lad!" growled the owner of the stationary shop, stacking the shelves with various inkwells.
"Got all the staff I need, mister. Try Aleiester's three shops down," suggested the cauldron vendor.
"Sorry, boy, the job requires quite a bit of magic, and well… can't do that yet, ey?" quipped another boy barely out of Hogwarts -Tom was certain the self-absorbed prick had been a Ravenclaw- at a secondhand bookshop.
Tom scowled, and stopped himself from kicking a wall after being turned down again. Who on earth needed magic to stack books!? Had wizarding Britain not heard of ladders?
It was unbelievable. He'd been so immersed in his quest for the Chamber of Secrets during fifth year, that he had failed to notice the apparent increase in unemployment in the Wizarding World. Of course, he had not been under the impression that he would actually need a job to support himself yet.
Shop after shop had turned him away, and his patience was running thin. He had even tried Horizont Alley and Carkitt Market, but whatever openings he found required him to be at least seventeen so that he could perform magic. Then the shops and carts had started to fill up with customers around midday, and the shop owners stopped paying him any mind.
Tom then turned to the last option he had left: Knockturn Alley, but he might as well have skipped it for all the good it did him. Some lowlife attempted to swipe his money and got a broken nose for his trouble, a one-eyed witch had creeped him out when she tried to snip a lock of his hair, a shop owner had threatened him with a bloody knife, and a scantily clad witch had propositioned him. In broad daylight!
However, he had found a cup with a refilling charm in a shop selling odds and ends, so he supposed the day wasn't a complete loss, even if buying it had cost him half a Sickle. Tom had not been able to vanquish the image of those buckets from his mind.
As the sun began its descent, he left the bizarre side street, stopped by another food vendor on the way back to Diagon Alley, and counted how much he had left.
Four Sickles, three Knuts.
He pocketed the change and forced himself not to think of Abraxas squandering Galleons on their Hogsmeade outings.
One day he would own the world. He just had to be patient for a little longer.
Drawing a little strength from that firm belief, Tom started the long walk back to Wool's.
It was nearly sunset by the time he arrived. The three muggles were in the kitchen, eating and doing inventory. Just like that morning, Bishop noticed him first, and slunk away into a corner the moment Tom appeared in the doorway. Stubbs scowled and Whalley nodded at him in greeting.
Tom shot them a glare and walked away.
"Riddle!"
Stubb's shout reached him before he could start climbing the stairs, but he pretended not to hear.
"Oi, Riddle! Wait up!"
It had been Whalley this time, going as far as jogging after him.
Tom growled. "What?" he ground out, refusing to turn around.
The younger boy stopped at the bottom of the rickety staircase. "We wanna talk to you about somethin'. Can you come back to the kitchen?"
Tom very nearly let out a bark of laughter. "No," he replied, resuming his walk.
"It's about supplies," said Whalley pleadingly. "We need to go out, and we could use another pair o'hands. You'd get your own share!" he added with a hint of desperation.
Tom paused again and took a deep breath. His measly pocket change jangled; he'd blown through a quarter of it in one day. He'd tried every damned shop he could find with no results, and there was no real hope that things would look up on that front any time soon. At this rate he would not last a week. His pride rose in protest, and then died a tortuous death. As a child, Tom had learned that survival came before pride, and he was first and foremost a survivor.
Without another word, he turned around and stalked past a bewildered Whalley. The muggle followed him back to the kitchen, trotting at his heels like a puppy.
Bishop squeaked in fright when he caught the thunderous look on Tom's face, and Stubbs crossed his arms over his chest but remained silent.
Tom sat down on one of the empty chairs, and stared at the older muggle expectantly. Silence reigned for a moment while Whalley tried to decide whether to sit like Tom, or stand like Billy.
"Well?" snapped Tom. "I did not have a good day, Stubbs, so you better make this worth my while."
Stubbs had the gall to snort. "Did we interrupt your busy schedule, Riddle? Must you capture the last rays of sunlight for your midnight rituals? Need to go hunting for virgin blood before darkness falls across the land?"
"Stubbs, if I needed virgin blood, I'd use yours," Tom replied without missing a beat.
The muggle blushed a crimson red, Whalley covered up a snort as a cough, and Tom smirked in satisfaction. After his shitty day it felt good to tear into someone.
"Billy, stop pickin' on him. Dennis looks like he's gunna wet himself," complained Whalley, shooting Bishop a disgusted look. Tom then decided he could tolerate Eric Whalley.
Stubbs glared a bit more at Tom, who kept staring back with his satisfied smirk. It seemed to drive the muggle up the wall.
"Fine," Stubbs finally relented, leaning down on the table across from the wizard. Blue eyes drilled into icy ones. "We're in trouble," he said. "We are almost out of food, and we are down to our last couple of pounds. We need to take a look inside the empty houses, and see if we can find anything we can use."
Tom raised an eyebrow. "Are you asking me to go looting with you?"
Stubbs ground his teeth and Whalley stared down at the floor.
"We are out of options right now," admitted the blond. "We haven't been able to find jobs these days."
"So you are," pressed Tom, enjoying how Stubbs squirmed at his words. He'd always been a goody-two-shoes, so this must be killing him.
"Yes, I am," snapped the blond, glaring back at the wizard. "Are you coming or not?"
Tom leaned back on his chair. "What is in it for me?"
Stubbs reeled. "How about you do your part, and I don't throw you out?"
Tom sneered. "Go ahead, Stubbs. Give it a shot."
The tension between the two boys ratcheted up in an instant. Billy snarled and fisted his hands, and Tom leaned forward to stare at him like a predator. In the corner, Dennis whimpered.
Eric backed away from the pair with his hands in the air, recognizing the danger of angering Tom Riddle. "You get a share of whatever we bring back," he said hurriedly. "Even if you don't find anythin' an' we do, we split it even."
Tom let his gaze drift to the younger muggle, and Eric flinched.
"It's jus' we'd cover more ground if there's three of us," he babbled while staring at Tom's knee, unable to meet the dark look. "Dennis is the lookout, so it's jus' me and Billy all the time, an' we could really use someone else, y'know? There's a ton of abandoned houses, an' most of them were already looted, but-"
"Whalley," cut Tom, annoyed by the muggle's nerves. "You're rambling."
Eric closed his mouth with a click, and stared at his shoes.
Tom was still annoyed, but Eric's intervention had worked, and the tension had gone down a notch. There was an uncomfortable silence in the kitchen while Tom mulled over the offer.
If he was unable to find a job, he would have to find a more immediate, yet temporary, solution. Looting would not have been his first choice, but there were not many options available to him at the moment anyway. He closed his eyes with a tired sigh, and his shoulders dropped.
Stubbs seemed to take it as an admission, because before long he had placed a plate with a loaf of bread and ham in front of Tom. A peace offering of sorts.
"We leave at blackout," said Stubbs, his voice still tense but void of hostility.
Tom said nothing while the three muggles filed out of the kitchen, leaving him to eat in peace at last.
History Trivia
Ration Books: At the start of WW2, Britain imported most of the cheese, sugar, fruits, cereals and meats that it required to feed its population. Knowing this, the Nazis attacked shipping bound for Britain, hoping to starve the nation into submission. To deal with this, the government issued small booklets with coupons, limiting the amount of items that could be bought from stores. Eventually, even non edible items like clothing, petrol, paper and soap had to be rationed. Brown books were issued to adults, blue books were issued to children aged 5-16, and green books were issued to children under 5 and pregnant women.