Pity the Living ♔ Tom Riddle

Prologue

New Years Day, 1932.

London.

Dusk was approaching, the bitterly cold air seeping into the stone walls of the poorly built houses of the east end of London, but the usual celebratory events for the dawn of the new year were not present for the arrival of 1932. The streets of were quiet, the pubs half-empty and the streets crawling with homeless people sheltering under shop awnings to hide from the cold. The roads were empty, covered with a thick layer of snow, that was more of a brown colour than white, due to the dark sky thick with factory and coal smoke.

Two children came running down the street; both dressed in what looked like a few rags sewn together, with their little feet bare to freeze in the snow. They were holding a sack full of food, mainly consisting of leftover hams and turkeys from the bins on the other side of the Thames river, where the wealthy bathed in the tax of the poor. They had been running for an hour, trying to grab what they could before their feet froze off. Most would call it suicidal, but the young girl of seven was determined for her younger friend, a boy of five, to live through the next week. They would not die like the newborn babe's that arrived at the beginning of the winter.

The climbed the stairs, their little toes almost frozen off, and silently slipped back into the doors of the large building - an old warehouse converted into the biggest orphanage in the East End, that was still overcrowded. The fatal market crash had left too many children abandoned for the city to cope with. They sneaked up to their shared room, careful to no awaken the matron or any snitching children. Thankfully, most slept in the large dining hall-turned-dormitory, but the two children had the benefit of being born here many years ago and were granted the tiny room to share long ago. Boys and girls weren't supposed to share rooms, but the matron didn't have much choice with the number of orphans increasing.

Locking the door behind them, with a doorstop they stole from a shop, the quickly emptied their sack onto the table. They divided the food into 'storable' and 'not storable', putting most of the meats on their window sill outside, where it would remain frozen naturally. Other food, such as cakes, they hid in their cupboard away from the rats. If the matron had discovered that they had left the building, let alone travelled across London to steal food, they would be in for a beating and a week in the attic. Even a day in the attic was terrible enough, but anything would be worth the proper food they got their hands on.

"Gisela, can I have some cake?" asked the little boy, visibly shivering.

"Of course, get the fire going Tom," she replied, grabbing the rich chocolate treat from the cupboard.

The little boy approached the fireplace, grabbing the two dry sticks, only for the fire to immediately start, making him jump back in fright. This wasn't the first time this strange occurrence had happened. He piled the sticks onto the fire, while his friend grabbed their thin woollen blanket - also stolen - off their small wooden table the made for a bed. Curling up by the fire, where they would sleep tonight, they feasted their little fingers into the rich food - far nicer than the slop they ate for their two meals a day from the orphanage.

As they fell asleep, curled up sharing warmth by the fire, their cake wrappers burning in the fire to erase any sign of its existence, they dreamed of a real bed and good food. But late in the night, when the light died out, they woke to the shock of the cold, and the little boy curled into the girl's body seeking warmth.

"You know, Gisela, one day I'm going to be rich and powerful, and we're going to eat what we want and sleep in real beds, and I'm going to punish everyone who ever made us hungry and cold," huffed Tom, his high-pitched voice sounding surprisingly dark as he stared into the dying embers in front of him.

"And how are we going to become rich? Tom, you know once we're fifteen you're off to the docks, and I'm going into service," sighed the older girl, who refused to dream of the impossible.

"I'll never work in the docks or the workhouse, Gisela, I don't know how I'm going to get the power, but I know I will. And they'll all be sorry," he growled.

"It's a man's world Tom, you may succeed, but what about me?" she questioned, tightening her hold on him from behind as she spooned him.

"I'll make sure you live the life I deserve - we both deserve - Gisela, I promise," he replied, and with no reply, he closed his eyes and drifted off into his dreams.

Two years passed before the children finally got their own bed. It was hard and squeaky, with barely a mattress, but at least it wasn't the hard table, that they could now use as a desk. The first night in their new bed was the best sleep both children could ever remember. The newly appointed matron, Mrs Cole, had tried to separate them - as new policy forced the genders apart - but she gave in after a deal was struck that involved stolen whiskey. There was more food after the Depression's end, but it was still the disgusting slop the malnourished children were raised on, so the children continued to raid the rubbish bins of the west side in the night; but only during the summers. Their feet had suffered enough running on icy nights.

They had only been caught once, but the two children would remember it forever. It was a year ago; they hadn't been fed for two days, and in desperation left in daylight to rummage the bins, only to be dragged back to the orphanage by the drill sergeant, who had been introduced to start training the older boys for the armed forces. Gisela could still see the faint cane marks on her arms, which would hopefully fade with time, but Tom would likely have the lashes on his back for the rest of his life.