Shattered Hopes

Day 1

A piece of rubble from the raid at the weekend slid along the floor as Tom's foot hit it. The pavement was a horrible sight but it was better than looking up. Looking up would involve seeing all the smiling, waving people, pretending to be happy. Why did they have to be so cheery? Why couldn't they just face it, life was miserable since the war started.

A noise made him unwillingly draw his eyes away from the concrete ground. He glanced up in time to see Benjamin run past him holding a packet of flour. Two men ran out of a shop further up the road.

"Oi!" one yelled, "Come back 'ere boy!" he tapped the other on the chest. "Get 'im Will."

The younger of the two ran after Benjamin while the older cheered him on from the doorway. Behind him, Tom saw Paul slip in and out of the shop without the man noticing. Tom almost smiled. It was amazing how many times the fools fell for it.

"Good morning Master Riddle."

Tom switched his gaze to the large figure in front of him. "Good morning Mister Smith," he replied stoutly.

"So how are things for your lot?"

Tom noted 'Your lot' down on the Banker's list of crimes.

"We received two more last week," he said. "New born twins. They are only babies, Mister Smith. That's five we have now. And the older they get the worst it seems to be. Little Sally Jenkins? Her father's at war and her mother died in that accident a month back? Well she's awful. Every night she wakes up screaming. This war is not fair on the children Mister Smith. There are more orphans now than there ever were before."

A flicker of pain crossed the man's face. Tom stared up at him angrily, clenching his teeth.

"Well there-"

Tom's eyes narrowed. He knew that the word 'sacrifices' was on the old Muggle's tongue. Adults. Were they the same everywhere or was it just the British who were snobby and big headed?

Mr Smith sighed.

"Look," he said, sounding desperate. "You have got to be brave Tom. If we give in then Hitler's won and we're all a goner."

Oh and wouldn't that be a shame, Tom thought, Good for Hitler. He's got the right idea.

Mr Smith turned and walked away, rather more quickly then you would have expected.

Tom turned and continued to watch the performance. The shop assistant had caught up with Benjamin and the older shop owner was giving him a good talking to.

"Look Son, What d'you think you're up to?"

"Sorry, Guv," said Benjamin in his best 'I'm just a poor orphan who don't know beh-er' voice. "But yer see, down at Vauxhall Road we ain't got enough. We're all 'ungry Guv."

"There's gotta be a better way, Lad."

"There ain't no other way Guv! We tried askin' for more rations but they ain't givin'. We gotta steal, or we'll starve."

The shopkeeper bit his lip and bent down on one knee to talk to the boy.

"Look," he said, "Stealing food is just as bad as everything the Führer's been up to. I'll see what I can do next council meeting. OK?"

It was amazing how Benjamin could make his face light up like that.

"Thanks Mister! 'Ere," he took the packet of flour out from under his jacket and handed it to the shopkeeper.

The shopkeeper took it graciously and ruffled Benjamin's hair. "There's a good lad."

"Boo!"

Tom didn't even bat an eyelid. "Hello Clara."

"'ow'd ya know it was me?"

Tom turned to look at the young girl behind him. "You always say boo," he replied with a shrug. "It's hardly surprising."

"And you always talk with a toffy accent," Clara retorted, "You gotta relax, calm down. If yer can't now, when can ya?"

"Maybe when there isn't a war on?"

Clara rolled her eyes. "I mean when yer fourteen plank 'ead."

"So what are we having for tea tonight?"

Clara grinned. "You caught today's production. Benji's a right lih-ull actor inne? Can o' Spam, two bars 'o choc-late 'n' a carrot."

Tom sighed. "Really Clara? Are we so low that we have stopped to stealing?"

Clara's grin faded. "Well.. yeah. Their fault for fallin' for it really. Well mister posh-in-socks, you're not getting' any Spam then."

She stuck her tongue out at him, giggled and ran off back to Vauxhall Road. Tom sighed again. OK, they were a bunch of worthless Muggles. Unworthy to converse with him, the heir of Slytherin himself. But he couldn't help liking the other children of the orphanage. They were so creative. The diversion tactic was only one of the many schemes they'd come up with to get extra rations. Give these kids a mop and a bucket and they'd invent a game good enough to make fun in an air-raid shelter.

The personalities were so diverse. There was Benjamin who could play any part. Oliver, who could climb up a chimney faster than anyone. Beth, who saw everything as an obstacle course (and had invented the chimney climbing game). Clara, who had the most creative range of insults Tom had ever heard. James, who could swear like a trooper. Freda, who would be really quite pretty if her hair didn't constantly resemble an upturned plant.

And all the rest. All O**o**rphans, like him. But their parents were all either dead or fighting. None of them had been left to rot by their scum of a father.

Tom turned the corner and saw the last remains of the building hit by the air raid at the weekend. So far Vauxhall Road hadn't been hit, but it wouldn't be lucky forever.

As he entered the old Orphanage the wall of sound hit him. There was always lots of noise here. A warm, comforting din that never seemed to lose any of its potency. He dodged out of the way as a pair of naked toddlers scrambled past and wandered in to what some of the children had nick named, the debating room.

"The Germans aren't gonna attack America! They're not that stupid."

"Well they can't just leave 'em there"

"Why not?"

"'Cos if they take Europe then there'll only be two massive powers in the world. That's like putting two fat guys in a tiny room together. Sooner or later, one of them's gotta scratch."

"But Germany's building up its resources."

"So's America."

"And the Germans are using them up as fast as they make them."

"But all they need is one crippling blow and the USA could be out in one swift boom!"

"Ah, they'd never get one big enough."

"Besides, the Americans aren't even in the war. One huge display of pointless violence would just drag 'em in."

There was a pause as people considered the benefits of this.

"Maybe they'll join on their own?"

"No way. The Americans wouldn't join. Unless there was that big attack Beth's talking about."

There was another pause.

"Maybe we could attack them."

Tom collapsed in his chair and let the chatter waft over him. He pulled out his book. 'Salazar Slytherin - The rise to Evil' had long been pulled off the shelves for 'controversial promotion of the Dark Arts' but Tom cherished his copy. He'd found it at a Muggle jumble sale. The fool hadn't known what he had. Tom flicked the ruffled pages until he found one with the corner bent down. He carefully smoothed out the crease and began to read.

***

It was the poking that woke him. One of the little children had got hold of a long stick and was waving it about the room.

Tom's hand lashed out and seized it, breaking the wood under his palm. The snap echoed. The children in the room gasped and went silent. Tom threw the stick to the ground where it shattered for a second time. Rosy intervened.

She confiscated the rest of the stick and told the boy to "Move it, move it," out of the room.

Tom relaxed again and carefully, with some ceremony, folded down the corner of the page he was on.

Rosy put her hands on her hips and tutted. "Honestly Tom," she said, "You must control your temper."

"Everyone else knows better than to interrupt me while I'm reading my book," he pointed out. "It's about time James learnt it."

"Amelia's father's visiting tomorrow," she told him, "You'd better behave."

"I know how to act around the general," he sneered.

"Yes," sighed Rosy, "You do, don't you?"

She bent down to pick up a pile of plates abandoned from lunch. Vauxhall Road did have a dining room, but it wasn't big enough to cope with all the orphans.

"You know," she said, staring at the chair. "Not all of us can go to a posh boarding school. You shouldn't turn your nose up at us just because you're safe ten months out of twelve and we're not."

"You're the third person today who told me what to do."

"We're just trying to point you in the right direction."

"You," Tom snarled, "Can't tell me what to do."

Rosy couldn't help smiling. "No, we can't."

She stood up and took the plates to the kitchen. But not before, very lightly, planting a kiss on Tom's cheek.

Tom was curled up in the middle of his room, adjusting his project. He'd made it in charms class at the end of last year. It was a strange, box like object with two small lights at the top. Clara watched him curiously for a short while before saying,

"Blackout, Tom."

Tom nodded wordlessly and, without taking his eyes off the box, lifted the frame with the blackout cloth behind him. He tried to put it to the window with only one hand while paying no attention to what he was doing. It slipped from his fingers. Clara dived forward to catch it and handed it back to him. Together they fixed it to the window frame.

"Thank you," Tom said.

"Wow," said Clara, impressed. "Could this be thanks from 'is Lordship Riddle?"

Tom smiled. "Just call me Lord Voldemort."

"Lord Whatie?"

"Lord Voldemort," Tom repeated. "It's my nick name at school. You see, if you rearrange the letters in my name, Tom Marvolo Riddle, you get 'I am Lord Voldemort'."

Clara paused and her lips moved silently as she tried to figure this out.

"With or without an r after the e?" she inquired after a while.

"Without."

There was another pause, this time with a lot of finger waving in the air.

"Do you want a pen and paper?" Tom asked, eventually.

"No, I think I'll just trust you on that one."

"Hey guys."

Tom and Clara turned to look at the door. Paul was leaning against the doorframe casually.

"Beth's organising a game of blind man's bluff downstairs. I know it's nothing special but it can easily be turned on and off in case of air raid. Will you be joining us?"

"Sure," said Clara, turning back to Tom. "You comin'?"

"Hold on."

Tom slammed his hand against the end of the box. The little lights turned on and flashed green.

"There will not be an air raid tonight," he concluded, "Not around here anyway."

"Yer got some kind o' bomb detector or somin'?"

"Possibly," Tom replied.

Clara gave him a suspicious look then hurried downstairs to join the game. The two boys walked down the stairs together and more slowly.

"Leave enough for the rest of us, Tom," Paul said after a while.

"What?"

"You said you liked Freda didn't you?"

"I said she was pretty, if she did something about her hair."

"Yeah, well Benji said he saw you and Rosy kissing this afternoon."

"She gave me a peck on the cheek!"

"And now you and Clara, alone in our room together. You gotta chose Tom."

"I don't like any of them!"

"Except Freda, if she sorted out her hair."

"None of them! They're... They're..."

"Common."

"Yes!"

"Unworthy."

"Yes!"

"Muggles."

"Ye- what?"

"Did you know," Paul asked, staring at his feet while they walked. "That you talk to yourself?"

Tom was appalled

"And you listen!"

Paul seemed shocked that Tom would even contemplate his not listening.

"Yes."

"How much do you know?"

"Enough so you'll never clutter up my third of the room again."

Paul smiled evilly and walked ahead. Tom kept the shocked expression until Paul had disappeared from sight. Then he smiled. Paul was attempting to blackmail him. He'd learnt well.

As soon as Tom walked in the room, Amelia bumped in to him.

"Got you!" she cried, grabbing hold of his trouser leg so he couldn't escape.

Tom smiled at her determination. He untied the blindfold from her eyes and knelt down so she could tie it round his head. Then the six year old spun him around and with a giggle, ran away. Tom stared at the cloth. Just for effect he stuck out his arms and staggered around for a bit but he was always in complete control. He rebounded off the coffee table. The corner with a large chip off it. He was facing the back door. Amelia's giggles were still emitting from the corner where she'd ran. Paul was chuckling to himself to his left. A squeak told him Oliver was on the sofa. Approximately two adults were by the door chatting. The sound of Beth's old shoes were coming from the right. James had just bumped in to the wireless while escaping his flailing arms. Benjamin had caught the radio so they were on his left. Clara had taken off her shoes and was creeping along behind him and Sally was...

"Caught you!"

Sally squealed with delight and undid the blindfold. As Tom tied it wound her head he looked around. Everyone was exactly where they were supposed to be, but David was missing. After spinning the little girl around, Tom slipped out the door to seek him. He found him leaning against the wall just outside.

"Anything wrong, David?"

"Yer know what day it is?"

"Thursday?"

"Too right it's Thursday. I 'ate Thursdays."

Tom leaned against the wall with him.

"Yer know," said David, "It's times like this I wish I could smoke. Like me dad. Me dad used to smoke a pipe though. I really need a fag."

"Why not then?"

David pointed to the sky. "Planes'll see it won't they. Bloody Germans." He pointed two fingers at any planes that happened to be passing. "Me dad wouldn't stand for it if 'e was alive. Give 'em all a good bashin'."

"David," said Tom, "You've got to have been here longer than me. How did your parents die?"

"Me mum's not dead," David replied, "She's in the clink. She got locked up for killin' me dad. Now that's what I call feminism."

Tom put his head back against the wall and stared at the sky in amazement. "Shocking."

"Shockin'!" David exclaimed, "What's shockin' is that she dint get caught earlier. She did it all wrong. Now if I were gonna kill someone I'd-"

He didn't get to continue because at that moment the air-raid siren went off, the door next to them opened and the children started to filter out, heading to the shelter. First the little children, then the older, herding them out, and finally the oldest and the adults carrying the smallest.

"Come along Tom, David."

They were dragged off to the underground shelter at the bottom of the garden. The babies were crying, Sally was screaming and everyone who wasn't busy comforting them were crowded in a corner looking miserable.

The joy of minutes before was lost.

Clara gave Tom a dark look.

"You said there wouldn't be a raid."

Nothing was hit that night.