Chapter 1 : New Lives

There was a rare commotion in the usually silent building of Wool's orphanage.

Mrs. Cole, the matron was holding a child away from a screaming woman, as another pair of strong hands pulled the lady away from her. The girl cowered into the hold of the matriarch, evidently confused and scared at her ordeal.

"-I am not leaving her here!"

"- I am not giving you any choices, Cecilia!"

Cecilia's throat seized as she looked at her daughter. She knew this day was coming, but she did not anticipate it would be so soon. She tried pulling her arm out of her husband's grasp, and failed. She took a deep breath, as though showing him she was controlled now.

"Fine." She stated. "Fine. I will leave her, just let me," Cecilia reached behind her neck trying to pry the clasp of her pendant off. Seeing that, the man released her, and the woman took off her necklace, placing it in the hand of the matron. Her eyes pleaded with her to give the jewel to her daughter.

The woman continued sobbing softly, as she was whisked off by her husband into the cold night air. A few minutes passed, which Mrs. Cole used to make sure that the couple wouldn't return for a while.

The matron, in her time serving the institution, had come across many instances when a couple would arrive, with a baby in their arms, or a toddler in tow, and they would abandon their offspring at the building, it was not anything new to her.

But as she gazed at the girl who was now sat shivering in a chair, Mrs. Cole wondered why any couple would want to give such a pretty child away.

Golden haired, blue eyed and surely paler than she normally would be, she had not gotten the child's name yet, but she could see palpable fear resonating in her eyes. The child must not have been older than eight, she concluded, then she proceeded to wonder why they were giving her away at this age. Couples seemed to leave babies here more often, as babes asked no questions.

And this little girl had questions and plenty of them, she was too terrified to voice any as of now. Mrs. Cole produced a flimsy blanket and laid it on her shoulders, she was starting to feel almost sorry for the blonde little girl, and Mrs. Cole tried to not feel sorry for the many sorry children that came here.

In time, the equally as blonde and pale, just as handsome as his daughter, the man came back, to finish any and all formality that required to be penned out, then he could free himself of the custody of the girl.

Mrs. Cole eyed the man, and not for the same reasons that the younger matrons were staring at him covetously. The matron was trying to read his face, decipher the story that led to her new addition in the orphanage, to her dismay, he was carefully composed, letting nothing on.

She handed out the paperwork to him, asking, "May I have your name?"

Clearly disgruntled at his wife's antics, the man straightened his tie and took out a pen. "Richard Demesne," he answered smartly as he started signing the documents.

Mrs. Cole did not have a moment to question his strange surname as the man finished, handed her the documents and strode out, in an evident hurry to get away from his daughter, she noticed as he sent a malicious glare towards her. The girl shrunk in her seat, her father's features twisting into fear on her face.

When the unpleasant man was gone, Mrs. Cole started to lead the girl to her room upstairs.

"Your name, dear?"

The girl looked up at the woman, and Mrs. Cole heart gave way as she noticed the glazed appearance in her blues. Her tinier hand held hers in a death grip, and in the smallest voice, she answered,

"Annabeth."

The room she was given was just slightly larger than a cupboard, consisting nothing more than a bed, desk and wardrobe. Annabeth did not complain about her accommodations, she simply took a seat on the bed, head hung.

"Your mother left this for you," Annabeth's head snapped up at the mention of her mother, she practically snatched the thin chain away from the hand holding it out. It was a tiny flower, housed by a silver oval, the last mark she would have of her mother. She then tried to put it on, struggled until Mrs. Cole did up the clasp for her.

There was a momentary flicker of life in her blue eyes as she fingered the locket, then she returned to her previous dismal state.

Mrs. Cole left the girl in her room, she thought it would be best to leave her to herself, for the one lesson that living in an orphanage had taught her, it was this that the first thing that abandoned children needed most, was a good weeping.

And Mrs. Cole could not have been righter. It took a few more seconds for the last vestiges of shock to pass Annabeth, before tears overcame her.

The young lass was curled up in a ball of sobs and silent tears on Mrs. Cole's next visit, her finger twisted in the ornament. She had come to call her to dinner, but one look at her state told her that she would perhaps want food in her room, for at least the first few days.

"I will get you your food right here, is that fine?" she had asked, and Annabeth had replied, "I do not want any."

Mrs. Cole considered pushing her to eat, but then she remembered that the rest of the children will have just a little more, if she skipped dinner. Years of conditioning to provide enough for all had made her think in this manner.

She left her alone once more.

Ignoring the hunger pangs resounding through her body had seemed acceptable while Annabeth was seized up in her longing to see her mother again. However, as midnight approached, her stomach demanded nourishment insistently.

Annabeth did not know where she was, she did not know where she would get food from, all she knew was that she was definitely hungry, and she would not be able to sleep, until she had her fill.

She crept out of bed, and down the stairs, sneaking around corners and rooms until she came upon a long room that held an equally as long table. She easily recognized the cold storage on the side, and made a beeline for the refrigerator.

To her utter disappointment, there was next to no food left. She found a piece of bread which she ate whole, but apart from that all her pawing was proving dishearteningly fruitless.

"You will not find anything."

Annabeth was taken aback by the sharp voice that almost scolded her. She half-expected Mrs. Cole to be standing there, disapproving at her nightly excursions, but the voice spoke again, and she knew it belonged to a child like herself.

"Who are you?" The voice asked with underlying tones of defiance. Annabeth turned around, meeting the eyes of her ambusher.

"I am Annabeth." She put her nose in the air, her voice was just as defiant as the little boy's who stood in the dark doorway. "Who are you?"

The boy was silent, scrutinizing her from his post, and she watched him straight back. Everything about him was dark, Annabeth noticed. Dark hair, dark eyes, dark clothes, except his ivory skin. Even his gaze was dark.

"Tom Riddle," he answered after he was satisfied with his observations.

"Well, Tom Riddle, do have anything to eat?"

"I do not."

The movement was subtle, but it was there. Tom's eyes flitted away from hers for a split second, his hand touched his nose for another moment, and he imperceptibly changed his stance to face the exit some more.

She looped her finger around her necklace.

"You're lying." She said simply.

His eyes snapped back to hers, somehow darker. "I am not." The defiant tone reentered his voice.

"You lied again." Annabeth stated, watching how his hand kept tweaking his nose, his feet shuffling.

"How would you know?"

"I do."

Annabeth went back to rummaging through the fridge, her fingers cold with searching. She knew there were not much options, but if she was willing to eat a stale bread, she hoped she could find more of it.

"I told you, you will not find anything there." Tom restated, now folding his arms.

"Then give me something to eat, Tom Riddle," Annabeth stood up again, and her empty stomach protested loudly.

The boy sighed almost exasperatedly, before he beckoned the girl with a finger. Annabeth left the kitchen and trotted along behind him, as they climbed the stairs and reached the corridor she had just come from.

"That is my room," Annabeth indicated, pointing to the door beside the one they were entering.

Tom simply nodded, stepping into his room.

"We're neighbors," Annabeth pressed, trying to elicit a reaction from him. He had been impassive since their first exchange, and she wanted to change that.

He hummed his acknowledgement, and Annabeth rolled her eyes behind him. Her advances at starting a friendship were not being received kindly.

"Can we be friends?" She tried a direct approach, and was met with Tom flashing his dark eyes at her. She was not intimidated though, he was but a child like herself.

"I do not need friends."

"You're helping me, friends do that."

Tom shoved a two fruits into her arms, his annoyance now apparent.

"We are not friends."

This time Annabeth rolled her eyes and made sure he could see it, before she turned on her heel and left. Well, at least now she wouldn't have to go all the way downstairs for food, when she could find some right next door.

A bright glaring light invaded her vision, instantly waking her the next morning. She blearily opened her eyes to see a thin woman whipping the curtains open, she was clad in an apron and bonnet, she must be one of the workers here.

"Downstairs, third door on the right corridor, breakfast is being served." The maid told her stoutly, with the air of a person who had said the same things many times before. Annabeth saw no point in telling her she already knew where to go, and she was just leaving the room when the maid pulled her back.

"Put this on."

Annabeth looked at the drab grey clothes she had handed her.

"What is this?"

"Uniform." The maid answered, leaving the room.

The clothes made her light hair, skin and eyes look even whiter, even more monotonous, but she knew she had to bear it. She was thankful that the clothes were comfortable, at least.

Annabeth sullenly treaded to the dining hall, as she entered the room she had been in last night, she was met with the sight of children milling about the room, and then she realized why this place needed such a large, long dining table. Toddlers, children and teenagers alike swarmed the place, grappling for food.

Annabeth was handed a plate, and she found herself ushered into a queue, which was moving fast enough that she was soon faced with a gray blob of food on her plate, then she was whisked off to take a seat at the long table.

Annabeth had to summon up some courage to take a bit of the blob, and to her apparent relief, it tasted like nothing. She would not complain again, whatever went into the porridge, it was filling her up.

Everything about this place was so gray. The clothes, the walls, the people, and even the food. The dull grays were so intense they seemed to be leeching off her energy, putting her in a mood as morose as she saw everyone in.

The gray was so dreary and suppressing, that Annabeth eyes latched easily onto the most prominent sight that her eyes caught first, the black of his hair seemed almost bright in comparison to the gray.

She was not surprised when Tom caught her gaze, and immediately dropped it as though she were just another face in the crowd. Annabeth did not let it bother her, there were so many people here, she didn't have to concentrate so hard on finding a friend in Tom Riddle.

But as he continued ignoring her, even dismissing the small smile she sent his way, in fact he had rolled his eyes at her as though it were a late reaction to her eye rolling last night, she started to feel the beginnings to irritation creep up her. What would it take out of him to just return a harmless smile?

Annabeth focused her attentions elsewhere, at the girls twirling their hair around their fingers as they conversed with a male, the maids slopping out food hastily to the children, the children themselves sullen, their eyes cast downwards and shoulders slumped…the entire aura of the room radiated depression, and she could feel it take a toll on her. She sometimes chided herself on being so observant of her surroundings and the people in them.

She was busy deciphering the message that a child was sending towards a maid with his body, it was that of total disobedience and even resentment, she was observing how his feet continuously pointed towards the exit, his hands knotted, refusing to meet anyone's eyes, and she was completely delirious to the many people sliding in and out of the seat beside her.

"Good morning," the greeting took her by surprise, she was not expecting anyone to greet her, and so she ignored the word, assuming it was meant for someone else.

A throat cleared, "Good morning," The voice pressed, and she recognized it at long last. One look at him and she could tell that every feature of his face and being was saying that last thing he wanted was to be ignored.

"Tom Riddle." She said simply, returning the coldness she had received from him.

That seemed to be the extent of their conversation as they ate in silence, she noticed he would barely touch his food, simply toying with it, until he could leave. A question struck her.

"Where did you get those fruits from?" She asked, as she has given the room a thorough once over, and she had not found any other articles of food, other than the large pots brewing on the stoves.

"You'll find that the matrons here eat better than us," he craftily tucked superiority into his words, as he swirled the porridge around. "You just need to know where to search."

This had definitely piqued her interest now, she sat up straight, eyes a little more alive for the first time since last night.

"Okay," she prompted, but Tom remained pokerfaced. She prodded him some more. "Tell me."

"I don't wish to share my amenities." Tom replied in that infuriatingly lofty voice of his, smoothly dismissing her.

Annabeth huffed, why did he stimulate her curiosity if he was not going to satiate it? The huff did not go unnoticed by her company, and she saw him smirk in perceived victory.

Her curiosity was now replaced by a deep annoyance. The competition in her had been aroused, now there was little that would keep her away from the matron's quarters.

This Tom Riddle needed to be kicked off his high horse, and she would be glad to be the one to do it.

A/N:

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