Tom's Old Room
The orphanage building was an intimidating square house built entirely from aged grey bricks within the city of London. It was trapped inside a boxy iron gate around its perimeter and although it was clean and fairly well looked after, Wool's Orphanage was a dismal home to view. Within its walls the orphanage had been refurbished in a slightly more modern style with pretty drapes and a large computer in the corner of the front hall, behind which a large queue of children had formed. The bricks on the inside of the orphanage were slightly more preserved – black and polished, reflecting a dark distorted image of any passer-by.
It had been a short fortnight since Evelyn Desiree had gone missing and a shorter three days since Evelyn's body had been found in the Desiree's backyard. Although over a week had passed, Evelyn still looked fresh – she might have been merely sleeping.
"Should we tell her?"
"It's probably for her own good she knows."
"But she's so young!"
"...Ivy dear," called a gentle voice from behind her.
Ivy spun round, her lip curled. "Yes?" she answered harmlessly, widening her eyes.
"We have some awful news to tell you," a woman, Ivy believed to be a volunteer, frowned. The volunteer was short and dumpy. She wore a clinical white apron with a pen tucked into its pocket. Her dirty-blonde hair was pulled back in a tight bun and her eyes were shadowed.
"Awful news?" Ivy repeated mock-dejectedly.
"It's your mother. They found her body," the volunteer grimaced, watching Ivy with pity.
Ivy's eyes lit up. "Oh good, I hope she's all cleaned up now and ready for the graveyard," she said, fingering the wand in her pocket.
The women around Ivy exchanged horrified glances as she stared innocently up at them.
"If I could have a say in her placement, I'd request for her burial to be in Little Hangleton near the bones of Tom Riddle, my grandfather. His grave can be found beneath the Angel of Death," Ivy continued absently. "That's the Riddle family grave. Granted, my mother wasn't really a Riddle – she didn't even marry into the family, for I was born outside of wedlock – but I feel it's only fair."
"And your father–?"
"Dead," Ivy lied, her voice adapting a tone of severity. "Dead, just like the rest of them."
"Well, uh. We'll do our best. I can understand how your mother's permanent residence would be important to you," the volunteer said hesitantly.
Ivy nodded curtly, before saying, "As this is my home now, may I interject another request?"
"Of course, Ivy."
"Can I stay in Room 27?"
"Room 27?"
"Yes. It was my father's." Ivy's eyes flashed black as she remembered him. She'd already memorised his handwriting and could recite everything her father symbolised: power, purity and immortality. He and his views were perfect...everything the world missed without him.
"Well, I don't see why you can't reside in Room 27. Follow me." The group of women disbanded as Ivy followed the volunteer to a flight of stairs. As they ascended the steps, she shook her head and glumly said, "It's so awful this had to happen while you're so young!"
"Don't pity the living, pity the dead. At least I survived. At least I can prosper."