EXILE | TOM RIDDLE

10. All The Broken People

My room at Madam Bailey's home is nothing compared to the one I share with Abigail at Hogwarts, nor the one I did with Helena before she was taken from me. For one, I get the room to myself, unlike anything I have experienced before. It is smaller than the room I shared with Helena back home, and significantly more modern than my dorm at Hogwarts. A large bed is outstretched with fluffy white blankets draped over it, pressed against the sloped wall, and I can feel my knees growing weak as I stare at it, at the comfort it must possess.

"Is this alright?" Madam Bailey asks, her hand atop my shoulder as though keeping me from flying away.

"Why would it not be?" I frown as I observe the room, the way the ceiling peaks in the center and drapes down to lower than my head at the edges. There is even a bookshelf, though only a few novels reside atop the wooden shelves, otherwise remaining void. Perhaps for me to place items I may collect throughout my years. "It is lovely. Beyond lovely, actually," turning to look at her, I strain my neck to meet her eyes. "Thank you, for opening your home to me. I truly am honored to live here."

Her lips jolt upwards. "Of course, dear. I'm going to go prepare for dinner, if you would like to explore the area — get aquatinted with our home."

"Am I permitted to leave?" I ask, glancing towards the window, the shield between me and the outdoors.

"Permitted to..." she trails off, frowning. "This isn't a prison, Rebekah. You're free to come and go as you will. Just...be careful. This is a muggle neighborhood, after all."

My brow furrows together. "Muggles do not scare me."

Salazar would be proud of me for saying such words, I realize the moment they slip from my tongue. He would praise me, for my lack of fear of muggles. For the people he hated so.

"Good," she pats my shoulder once, twice, before exiting the bedroom, calling out, "Be back within an hour for dinner," and shutting the door behind her.

It does not take me long after exiting the Bailey home to find my intended destination — a church, tucked away just around the corner, a few blocks away. There are no churches in Hogwarts anymore, nor the place called Hogsmeade, and the prayers I have casted to the Heavens in the faithless castle feel less valued.

Catholicism has fallen in the so called United Kingdom — so I have been told, anyways, but God still lingers in the chapels, with different men preaching his word instead of our typical priests. But it is better than nothing, I suppose, so the moment my eyes fall upon the church, I slide inside, shutting the door behind me.

It is different than the churches we had back home. Far too different.

I am not sure what to make of these differences, the way the walls are lined up and down with murals, portraits and gold. The windows are stained, with images painted into the glass, and even the pews are intricately designed, with floral carvings in the wood. It is nothing like you would see at home, but then again, nothing is the same here. I cannot expect it to be, cannot expect people not to have evolved.

The church is just about entirely empty, save for a singular brown haired boy, his back turned to me and towards the front of the chapel, his head bowed down and hands clasped together as he mumbles a silent a prayer. In an attempt to not disturb him, I manever to the other side of the chapel, only for my footsteps to send an echo throughout the room, and his head to shoot up, glancing over in my direction.

"My apologies," I grimace, wishing I had attended barefoot, as I so often did back home. There is something grounding about the feeling of one's foot atop a surface, instead of the soles of a shoe. Of course, it also means less noise, less disturbance in a house of worship.