Of course, they couldn't keep a bomb shelter under the orphanage, could they? The cellars were full of the foul-smelling whiskey that the overseers always carried. Tom suspected that you could get drunk just on the fumes down there. They wouldn't be wanting to distract the orphans from the bleak awfulness that was life, after all. That just wouldn't be as much fun.

The hailstones didn't only get you on the way down, oh no. They leaped from the pavement, just like maggots when you fry them in hot grease. It was amazing what you could learn in the kitchens of a great castle, wasn't it? Especially when you had a collection of creatures from dungeon and forest, and house-elves obedient to a fault. He hadn't stopped at maggots, after all.

It was a long way through the cold night to the public shelter, but his memories of Hogwarts kept him warm.