Chapter 3

June 20, 1943 - Night

It is a strange feeling, walking down a well known road when the lights have been extinguished. Everything is the same, yet it all appears different, unfamiliar.

It took Tom's eyes a full minute to adjust to the darkness ahead of him. The moon cast enough light to turn the streets and buildings into various shades of grey, but he still had to follow the muggles closely, lest he get lost. The houses and buildings of east London were old, tired, and worn even before the war, but now many had been reduced to an amorphous mix of grey-brown rubble. Finding his way back in the dark would be impossible on his own.

He had brought his wand along, tucked safely in a holster under his right sleeve, just in case. They could very well run into other looters, and should a fight ensue he would much rather be armed; he was not about to rely on Billy "stick-up-the-arse" Stubbs, and Eric "frypan" Whalley. It was risky, but he'd heard the Office for Improper Use of Magic might give him a pass if he'd used magic in self defence.

The orphanage was nestled between two abandoned townhouses: one of them completely wrecked, while the second one had been stripped of any valuables long before, so the three boys set out on a walk, sticking close to the rows of houses to avoid any wrong turns.

"We shouldn't go too far," said Stubbs suddenly from somewhere ahead, probably thinking something along the same lines. "We won't be able to come back until morning if we take too many turns."

"Yeah, or we migh' run into a gang o'somefing," added Whalley, looking around as if one could jump out of the shadows.

"Don't jinx it, Eric," grumbled Stubbs.

"But tis' true!" whined Whalley. "I 'eard the Widow Cooper tell Ms. Hunt that Spot's gang's back. They've been patrollin' the streets at night, 'cause the Italians were snitchin' on their haunts."

"So shut up and stop drawing attention," snapped Tom, bringing up the rear.

"Righ', right'..."

They continued to walk in silence for several streets before finding a suitable batch of abandoned houses that seemed empty: the windows were blown out, shredded curtains fluttered in the warm breeze, debris had been piled near the sidewalks to clear the road. They picked one that seemed relatively untouched, and prayed that they wouldn't run into any squatters.

Billy went in first, ducking under the frame as quietly as he could. Tom waited until both muggles had been inside for a full minute without any altercations, before tearing his eyes away from the darkened streets and following after them.

It was pitch black.

He stopped, unable to see anything beyond three feet. Tom itched to call out Lumos.

Then he heard Eric's voice, calling him from somewhere further inside the house. A few moments later, a faint golden glow illuminated the hallways enough for Tom to locate the other boys. Eric had lit the oil lamp with the smallest flame possible.

They were standing in some sort of drawing room, drawers upturned and papers strewn over the floor. The low light cast long, uncanny shadows on the walls, and made the darkness in the other rooms appear darker. Eric was placing the lamp against a corner, to hide the light from anyone who could be looking in from the outside. Stubbs was standing on a door frame, peering into the darkness of the next room. "I think that's the kitchen," he mused to himself. "Alright, let's be quick."

If going out under the cover of darkness was an eerie experience in itself, sifting through people's abandoned possessions was surreal. It looked like the inhabitants had rushed out of the house and left their lives frozen in time; then looters had come in and tossed the place upside down, leaving behind worthless family mementos like photographs, toys, broken furniture, and the like.

Tom followed Stubbs into the kitchen and left Eric sifting through the drawers.

"There has to be a better way to get supplies other than this, Stubbs," Tom growled, pawing through an empty pantry nonetheless.

"Yeah, money," snapped Stubbs, glaring at his companion. "Sorry we don't have fancy stuff like your stupid school."

Tom scowled, and stirred the conversation away from dangerous waters. "What kind of jobs have you looked for?"

"Anything, really: clerk, delivery, gardening, gutting fish," replied Stubbs, giving up on the stove he was perusing. "Nothing ever lasts. Sometimes we unload shipments at the docks. Tried a factory for a while, but it got blown up. The Army won't take us yet, 'cause we look too young. Shooting Nazis must be better than this."

Tom stared at Stubbs' outline for a moment, a bit surprised at his willingness to kill other muggles. The blond stared right back, as if daring him to question him.

Tom decided he didn't really care about the other orphan's motives, and went back to opening doors and drawers. Stubbs went back to doing the same, satisfied that Tom had dropped the subject.

After a moment, Billy's voice rang through the darkness again. "Look, you don't have to like me, and I don't have to like you, but if this is going to work, we have to at least be civilised," he said, sounding weary. "Can we call a truce?"

A truce? With a muggle? With this muggle?

Bishop already did his best to stay out of Tom's way. Whalley was a bit of a nuisance, but he actively tried not to aggravate him. Stubbs had been the only one getting on his nerves so far, but that was nothing new. They had never liked each other, not even as children. Tom had been too different, too mean, too angry, he'd never really fit in; Billy had always been the good boy, a poster child, usually sticking up for the weaker orphans. In other words, his complete opposite; the incident with the rabbit had only cemented their hatred for each other.

If a truce got Stubbs off his back, maybe he could finally get some peace and quiet. Of course he might have to bite his own tongue now and then, but it would be a small price to pay.

"So?" asked Stubbs after a minute of silence.

"Fine," huffed Tom through his teeth.

"What was that?"

"I said fine," he snapped.

"Ok! Ok! Good grief."

Tom huffed but refrained from saying anything else. Slowly, the two of them went back to shuffling around the kitchen, searching every nook and cranny they could find in the dark.

"Oi!" called Eric . "Found somefing!"

They exchanged a quick look and abandoned the kitchen, looking for the source of the light. Eric had moved to the dining room and forced open a sideboard; he was pulling out tins and stacking them next to him.

"Looters must not 'ave thought of looking 'ere," said Eric excitedly. "Tis not much, but it'll do."

Tom's instinct prickled. What were the chances of them finding something like this? "It might be someone's stash. They can come back at any moment. Just grab it and let's go."

As expected, Stubbs hesitated, but Eric sped up and bagged the six tins. "Finders keepers, Bill. Finders keepers. Tis us or them," he reasoned, trying to get the blond to snap out of it.

Once satisfied, Eric dimmed the light even more and passed the bag to Stubbs. Tom retreated into the drawing room and looked out the window, trying to search the darkness for any sound or movement. Unable to detect any, the three rushed out of the house and ran until they agreed that they had put enough distance between them and their target.

They continued in the same fashion with several more houses, but by the end of the night, they had found no more food. Nevertheless, Tom did manage to find a box of matches, a hammer, and some wire. Stubbs had looted some newspaper for insulation, and a few pots and pans. Overall, not a complete waste of time, but the lack of food was disheartening.

On their way back they'd had a close encounter with a Warden on one of the streets, but had managed to get away before being spotted. The twisting streets disoriented them for a bit, and the greenish fog hanging low around the buildings made things more difficult; they ended up trudging into Wool's as the sky began to turn a greyish blue.

After all was said and done, Tom's entire body ached, he was so tired he went to bed without saying another word to the other two. He was still anxious about his immediate future, but the exhaustion helped quiet his mind, and he fell into a blissful, dreamless sleep.

June 25, 1943

The day that everything changed, Tom's pocket change was down to a single Knut.

Looting over the next few nights had resulted in some useful knick-knacks, but they had found no more food aside from some mouldy bread, and he was not hungry enough to try to eat that, so he had spent the rest of his money in Diagon Alley and Carkitt Market. The tins they had found had to be split between the four of them, and they were long gone. British Restaurants (glorified soup kitchens, really) served cheap meals, but only once a day, and money ran out fast. It had taken those five miserable days for Tom to adjust to the reduced meals; he was still hungry all the time, it had just gotten a little easier to ignore it.

The truce between Tom and Billy had held so far, even if it was being held together by a thread. Billy had stopped trying to boss Tom around, and Tom had stopped antagonising the blond, but just barely. Returning to Wool's empty handed night after night kept aggravating their moods, and they were both ready to snap.

Stubbs had gone looking for a job again but hadn't been paid much. Whalley wanted to try breaking into a shop or an inhabited house. Bishop was his usual useless self. Tom just wanted to wake up in his bed in the Slytherin common room, and realise this had all been a nightmare.

Alas, he kept getting the short end of the stick.

That day the four boys had been lounging in the kitchen, even Tom, who had found that it was the one spot where the muggles had hung heavy curtains instead of planks; it had the only reading light in the entire orphanage. Dennis had been fidgeting from the start, still not comfortable with Tom's presence, and kept shooting him terrified glimpses that Tom revelled in; over the last few days, Bishop's constant fear had become his only source of entertainment, much to Stubbs' displeasure. The blond muggle had kept his mouth shut about it, but it was obviously grating on him.

Even if the others were sitting as far away as possible from him, playing some muggle game, this meant that it was only a matter of time before Tom's presence sparked an argument.

Maybe Stubbs thought he was being subtle, but he'd also been glancing over at Tom for a while. Tom largely pretended not to notice, but he kept losing his concentration, and rereading the same lines constantly; it was slowly but surely eating away at his patience, so by the time the muggle gathered the courage to speak, Tom was already at the brink of losing his temper.

"You have loads of books, don't you?" asked Stubbs suddenly.

Tom lifted his eyes from the page to glare at the blond. The muggle tensed, but didn't back down.

"Maybe you should donate some," Billy suggested cautiously, undeterred. Bishop's eyes grew as large as saucers, and Whalley stopped shuffling cards to watch the exchange. "For the cause, y'know?"

Tom furrowed his brows and cocked his head, bewildered by the strange things muggles said. "The hell are you talking about?"

Stubbs squared his shoulders, and puffed out his chest. "The army needs paper for cartridges and artillery. We all pitched in."

The mere idea of his precious books being turned into boxes and wads for muggle weaponry was blasphemous. Hell, the idea of any book being shredded to help perpetuate the muggle conflict disgusted him. Tom defensibly closed the book he was reading and scowled at Stubbs. "Are you out of your mind?"

The blond genuinely looked taken aback. "What? No, we all gave up something to support the troops," he replied, quickly gathering himself and glaring at Tom instead. "Don't you understand? They're dying out there to keep us safe!"

"How is that my problem?"

Stubbs stared at him in disbelief, and then in disgust. "Ah. Of course. How silly of me to expect someone like you to be anything but selfish," he said, poison dripping from every word.

Whalley mumbled something under his breath that sounded like 'not this again', and hid his face in his hands. Bishop began biting his fingernails and rocking in his chair.

Tom could feel a tingle of magic begging to smash Billy Stubbs' face against the table. "I'm warning you, Stubbs, back off," he hissed. Why couldn't the muggle just leave him be?

"Maybe I'll just take them while you're out, so they can be put to good use."

Tom thought of his locked trunk, packed to the brim with his spellbooks, his journals, his research, and that ancient grimoire he had found in the Chamber. Of all the things he'd found buried at Hogwarts, it was the one item he'd taken with him. It was full of ancient magic he couldn't yet read. It was priceless. And it was his. For a second, he envisioned coming back to finding them all gone. It was one of the worst things he could imagine being done to him.

"Don't. You. Dare," he whispered menacingly, eyes flashing. Right then he didn't care that it would be impossible for a muggle to lay a finger on his possessions, Stubbs was baiting him. They had grown up together, the muggle knew what set him off, how to push him over the edge. But why now?

"What are you going to do about it?" challenged the muggle, spreading out his arms in defiance. "Kill me like you killed my rabbit?"

Whalley and Bishop snapped to attention, directing their pale faces at Tom and Billy as if following a tennis match.

Tom huffed derisively. So much for their truce. "Is that what this is about? You're mad because you miss your rabbit?"

"So you don't deny you did!"

"Don't be ridiculous, I did not kill your rabbit."

Stubbs let out a snort. "'Course you didn't," he replied sarcastically. "I'm sure he hung himself from the rafters."

"I suppose he got sick of being around you," Tom snarked.

"You bastard, it was you! Everyone knows you did it!"

"I did not," insisted Tom, even if it was a bold faced lie. "We were nine. How do you suppose a nine year old hangs an animal from the ceiling?"

The blond boy threw his hands up in exasperation. "I don't know, Riddle, strange shit always happens around you!"

Eric gasped, Dennis squeaked, and Billy paled when he registered his outburst. Tom bit back a laugh at the frightened looks that took over the muggles. It was a well known fact among the orphans that the unexplained occurrences that surrounded Tom Riddle were not to be mentioned. Ever.

"What's wrong, Stubbs?" Tom asked with a grin that was all teeth. "Are you scared of me?"

Billy crossed his arms over his chest and regarded Tom apprehensively, trying to appear braver than he felt. Had he been a wizard, he would have definitely been a Gryffindor, because he ploughed on: "I would be an idiot not to be scared of you, Riddle," he said finally. "Who knows how you do what you do? Devil worship, I reckon."

Tom stared back, taken aback by the bizarre answer despite his anger. "I-what? Devil worship? Is Bishop still going on about that?"

Dennis made a choking sound, and squeezed himself into a tight little ball. Tom scowled at the little idiot before refocusing his attention back on Stubbs. Waste of oxygen if there ever was one, honestly.

Billy spared Dennis a glance, and grimaced. "Leave him be, Riddle. It's not just him, everyone was convinced you were possessed or something. If I believed such things, I'd agree."

Tom frowned at the muggle, fascinated by what he was hearing. True, Mrs. Cole had taken him to a priest as a boy; muggles chalked up everything they couldn't explain to supernatural forces, and Tom's magic certainly checked all the boxes. Obviously, the bemused priest could not find anything wrong with him, and simply recommended bringing the orphans to Sunday school to ease their fears. It was around that time that she had started threatening him with the asylum.

Because of the matron's actions, the rumour had spread that Tom was either disturbed or possessed; only the bravest or stupidest orphans dared bring it up in front of him, and all of them had quickly and painfully learned to never mention it again. If they had never gotten over the rumour, well that could explain why Bishop was still affected by the cave incident. Tom hadn't expected the effect to last so long. It made him a little proud.

"So then how do you explain it, Stubbs?" asked Tom, snapping out of his daze, and finding a slight academic curiosity in how the muggles viewed him with their limited knowledge.

"I think you're just evil."

Tom deflated slightly. "How disappointing," he sneered. "Truly, I don't know why I expected an intelligent response."

Eric groaned, and ran a hand down his face. "Leave 'im be, Tom. He's just pissed 'cause he's 'ungry."

Tom bristled. "I'm fucking hungry."

Eric laughed humorlessly. "Well, sure wish we 'ad that juicy bunny now, ey?"

There was a stunned silence between the four boys, and then Stubbs started to chuckle, which was like giving the others permission to do the same, and soon they were laughing, too. Even Tom had to hide a smirk. He'd been so high strung lately that that idiot Whalley had managed to amuse him.

Eric sighed dreamily and began counting with his fingers. "Rabbit stew, rabbit pie, rabbit 'otpot… ah, rabbit roast!"

Stubbs wiped a tear from his right eye. "You're a monster, Eric."

The sudden sound of insistent knocking at the front door interrupted their chuckling and put them all on high alert. Then whoever was at the door whistled, and the muggles relaxed.

"Louise!" cried Whalley, shooting up from his seat.

Soon, the mousy haired boy returned with an older girl Tom recognized.

Over the years, Mrs. Cole had dubbed some of them as 'problem orphans': Charlie Greene was the boy you went to if you wanted smokes or liquor, usually swiped from Mrs. Cole's stash; Johnny Wilson was a petty thief that kept getting dragged to jail by the coppers; Pete Murphy had a violent streak and would often beat up the other orphans or other children on the block; Tom Riddle was the demon child that terrorized the staff and the other children with his devil given power (there was no evidence, but no question about it either). And Louise Alcott was the orphan that made Mrs. Cole screech about indecency and scarlet women.

"Hullo, boys," she chirped merrily, swinging a basket for all of them to see. "I got ye a lil' somefing."

"Louise, yer a godsend," moaned Whalley, taking the basket and pulling out a loaf of bread as if it were the most precious thing he'd ever seen.

"Thank you, Louise," said Stubbs sincerely, taking the basket from Eric. "You won't get in trouble for this, will you?"

"Course not, silly," Louise gave him a bright smile, and faltered when she finally noticed Tom sitting at the table.

Even among the 'problem orphans', Tom was universally feared.

"Riddle, yer 'ere," she said, more to herself than to anyone else.

Tom inclined his head in greeting but remained silent.

Stubbs broke the tension by throwing a loaf of bread at the wizard, who caught it expertly regardless. "Don't mind him, Louise," he muttered. "He's just here temporarily."

The brunette seemed unconvinced but she refocused on her visit.

"I 'ave some more news," she said, watching the boys as Billy passed a loaf of bread to Dennis, more gently than he had to Tom. "There migh' be a job at the docks."

The three muggle boys lit up at that. Tom frowned warily.

"S'not a permanent position, mind, s'just unloading some odds and sods," she said hurriedly. "The usual 'ands are busy tomorrow, it's a one time fing."

The boys deflated a little, but the promise of a paid job was something at least.

Tom mulled over the girl's words. What did she mean by the usual hands? Was she part of some operation?

Stubbs didn't look too happy, which was a red flag regarding the nature of the job, but Whalley didn't seem to mind. Of course, just an hour ago he had suggested breaking and entering, so Tom couldn't gauge how much was too much for the younger muggle.

"So where are we s'pposed t'go?" asked Whalley.

Louise gave them directions to a rundown dock away from the public eye, and the time they should show. Whatever it was they would be unloading was probably contraband, Tom deduced, considering they would be doing it away from the main docks, under the cover of blackout.

"So there are four of us," started Stubbs, looking around the room.

"We can't all go and leave our things unattended," quipped Tom suddenly, speaking for the first time since Louise's arrival. He was still a little on edge from Stubbs' threat to take his books. "Bishop, you stay."

Had Dennis had any backbone, he would have bristled at being ordered to do anything by Tom Riddle. Instead, he babbled something intelligible and looked away.

Stubbs glared at him. "I suppose you have a point. Dennis usually stays, and three of us is still better than two," he conceded. "Sorry, Dennis."

"S'fine," Bishop mumbled, startling Tom. He couldn't remember the last time he'd heard the wimp speak. Was he finally growing a spine? Because if he thought sharing a laugh over a dead rabbit changed anything, he was sorely mistaken.

After a beat of silence, the muggles slowly eased themselves back into conversation and Tom tuned them out, focusing instead on eating while he could. Atwood had arrived just in time; if not for her, Tom would have backed Whalley's idea to break into a house or a shop. Merlin knew there were plenty of houses barely standing that they could choose as targets.

As the conversation turned to asinine issues about the other orphans, Tom left the kitchen and resolved to hole himself up in his room. They would not be leaving until three in the morning, so he had a whole afternoon to kill. Might as well reinforce his trunk before getting some shuteye.

History Trivia

Spot's Gang: Jack "Spot" Comer was a Jewish gangster who called himself the Einstein of Crime, and ruled over the East End between the 1930s and 1950s. He pulled together different gangs and their territories and essentially parcelled out power. He was notorious for protecting Jewish shopkeepers and being an anti-fascist. Along with another gangster, Billy Hill -who ruled the West End-, he moved food, petrol, and forged documents for servicemen through the Black Market.

Wardens: They were people who joined the Air Raid Precautions brigade; their main job was to protect people during air raids, leading them to shelters, handing out gas masks, giving First Aid, and putting out fires. They would also patrol the streets at night to make sure that people blocked the light coming from their homes during blackout.

British Restaurants: Essentially soup kitchens that set up in churches or schools to feed people who had lost their homes or jobs. Originally called Community Feeding Centres, Churchill changed the name to British Restaurants because the original name was too 'redolent of communism'.

Paper Salvaging: At the start of the war, the British government established a salvage department to collect recyclable materials, to counter the Nazi blockade. Paper was a material deemed relevant to the war effort: in 1943 alone, 600 million books were recycled and made into shell containers, cartridge wads, mortar bomb carriers, etc. To this day, it's been argued that the campaign caused more damage to Britain's cultural inheritance than the bombs themselves.