The Trace and the Truce
June 20, 1943
Sleep had eventually come in fits, broken, and restless. He had jolted awake throughout the night to glance at the door, listening to the shouts of people coming from the street, or to toss and turn, worrying about what he could 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 got dressed and resolved to go to the kitchen, hoping to find something to eat.
Tom opened the door to 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 make out his surroundings this time, and what he saw strengthened his resolve to get out as fast as possible: the wallpaper had bloated and starting to peel, dark spots and mould had grown 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 reached the bathroom and found no running water. Several buckets stood against the wall, some half-filled, some empty, and he shuddered, deciding to leave quickly instead.
How on earth the muggles could stand to live here was unfathomable.
The kitchen was located close to the back entrance. It was a sparse, utilitarian place, with walls a drab and dingy shade of off-white, with the occasional scuff mark or patch of peeling wallpaper. Tom had learned his way around a stove as a boy there, watching the cook work while he prepped ingredients and washed the crockery. It would have been fine, even enjoyable, had the cook not had a fondness for hitting little fingers with her large wooden spoon.
When he got there, it surprised him to find that he was not the first one awake after all. The muggles were huddled around cups of tea on a long and narrow table in the middle of the room, sharing bits of bacon and potatoes: a meagre breakfast compared to Hogwarts's effortless spread.
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 to the counters. He pawed inside a drawer and pulled out a small blue booklet, then he turned around and tossed 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 a few pages were still blank. His name beamed at him, 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, a powerful reminder of the Trace keeping him in check.
"No."
"Then it should still work down at the market, so long as you have the money," said Stubbs with some derision. Tom grimaced. As if he would choose to purchase something from muggles rather than from his own kind.
"Rules!" cried the muggle suddenly, drawing Tom's attention back to him.
"We take turns queuing for water, cooking and washing. There are jobs around town that will pay you sixpence, like gardening, clearing the streets, stuff like that. If you find a job, take it. We need as much money as we can get. Also, if you go out, come back before blackout, or we'll bar the doors and won't let you in. I mean it."
Tom fought down the powerful urge to snark back. "Anything else?" he asked through his teeth.
"Yes," said Stubbs, narrowing his eyes. "I know it'll be hard for you, but try not to be an arse," he added as he sat back down. Whalley stared in shock, before going back to wolfing down his breakfast, almost like he feared a fight would break out.
It became immediately obvious they did not intend to share.
Deep breaths.
"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, before he lost his restraint and throttled Stubbs with his bare hands.
The morning breeze was invigorating, and it helped clear his head. Diagon Alley was where he was supposed to go. He needed a summer job to support himself so he could leave this hellhole.
And so Tom wandered 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 ignored by passersby, and a few men rummaging through rubbish bins and dilapidated houses. This was normal for the East End and yet the place looked more miserable than he remembered it being the year before.
Two blocks away from Wool's, he found the queue of people carrying buckets that Stubbs had mentioned, filling them with clean water. He'd seen the broken pipes that the Muggle government had not bothered to fix on the way there.
Before long, his feet led him toward the Leaky Cauldron. It was a long walk, but he didn't mind it much as it helped him cool down. His arrival at Wool's the night before, being attacked by Stubbs, and being forced to cooperate with the muggles so he could stay the night, had sent him spiralling. It was humiliating, and it made him angry.
Breathe.
As he walked, Tom 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 brightly by the time he slipped into the Leaky Cauldron and proceeded into the back without sparing a glance at the owner. The man was used to seeing people through the entrance and did not look up. The smell 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 throb, but anything he bought from the pub would set him back too many Sickles, and he 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 at 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 any sign 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.
Walking deeper into the alley yielded the same results, and before long he was forced to acknowledge that he would have to inquire with each shop owner. He groaned. Tom had never been shy, but he did not enjoy talking to people, choosing to meander through his own thoughts instead. No one ever had anything interesting to say.
However, it quickly 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 stationery shop, stacking the shelves with various inkwells.
"Got all the staff I need, mister. Try Aleister'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 blasting a wall after being turned down again. Who 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 his fifth year that he had failed to notice the apparent increase in unemployment in the Wizarding World. He, of course, didn't think he would need a job just 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 filled 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.
Knockturn Alley was as dark as it was sketchy, as if the sun itself chose to shine somewhere else. The denizens were only a step above those of the East End, scurrying across the path hiding their -probably- illegal wares, bowing down to knowledgeable customers and pulling the oblivious ones into back entrances to scam them.
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. 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 could not vanquish the image of those buckets from his mind, and he'd be damned if he had to queue to get clean water.
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 money he had left.
Four Sickles, three Knuts.
He pocketed the change with a sigh 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. "Oi, we wanna talk to ye about summink. Can ya come back ter 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 t'go out, an' we could use another pair o'hands. Yer'd get yer 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 bloody shop he could find with no results, and there was no real hope that things would look up on that front any time soon. Everything required magic, and no adult wanted to be responsible for supervising underage spellcasting. 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 a virgin's blood, I'd use yours," replied Tom.
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.
"Oi 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."
The tension between the two boys ratcheted up in an instant. Billy snarled and fisted his hands, and Tom leaned forward 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. "Ye get a share of whatever we can get," he said hurriedly. "Even if ye 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.
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 got 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 to ourselves," snapped Tom, bringing up the rear.
"Righ', righ'..."
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 a 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 suffocating. 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 than this to get supplies, 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. "They are one-time gigs. 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 summink!"
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.
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.
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.