A/N: I love history and this story is inspired by the Victorian era. It was a fascinating and awful time. In a 100 years people will probably look back on 2022 with the same horror, wondering: how could they live like that? 

Chapter 1.

A knock sounded on the glass and Tommy jumped, nearly dropping the book in his hands. 

"Tea, young master?" The train attendant asked him. 

Tommy shook his head. "No, thank you." 

The trolley moved past him and he turned back to his book, eyes moving sightlessly over the letters. 

His mind kept going back to the previous week. His grandmother's passing. The funeral. The guests, most of whom he didn't know. The people who came to inform him that he was being transferred to a boarding school ten hours away. Though at fourteen, it wouldn't be long before he would be left to his own devices. 

At six he had lost his parents in a boating accident and now his widowed grandmother. The only other relative he knew of was an estranged uncle living in Scotland. But he didn't expect anything from a man who probably didn't know, or care, that he existed. 

Tommy gulped, trying to hold back the tears. They came anyway, dripping onto the pages. He shut the book and gazed out the window, hunching down in his seat and hugging his stomach. 

When the train arrived, a dour faced messenger waited for him with a sign at the station. And then he travelled another four hours by horse carriage. 

The cobbled stone soon turned to dirt roads and grassy fields and Carton school finally appeared, a large white manor shrouded in heavy October fog. 

"Here we are." The coachman opened the door and Tommy stepped down, gazing up at the manor in awe. A footman rang the bell at the entry and took Tommy's trunk from the carriage.

"Thomas Berkeley?" A stout man in a black suit walked out to meet him. 

"Yes sir." Tommy bowed. 

"I'm the housemaster, John Ramsden." 

"Nice to meet you, sir." Tommy said, wide eyes flicking over the man's shoulder. 

"Impressive isn't it?" The man followed Tommy's stare up the imperious walls, covered in red and orange vines. "It was established in fifteen-fifty-nine and most recently renovated four years ago." 

"Yes, most impressive." Tommy agreed and the man nodded, puffing up his chest proudly. 

"We're known to produce some of Britain's finest gentlemen. Boys need a firm hand to guide them and to prepare them for the harsh world ahead." He considered Tommy a moment, frowning. 

"It's a pity you're only here for a year, but at least our reputation will elevate your orphan status. It was generous of your grandmother to secure you a spot or you might have ended up at the workhouse, eh? God rest her soul. Come along." 

A little stunned at the bluntness of the man's speech, Tommy followed him inside. 

They stepped into a grand hall and Mr. Ramsden spoke about the checkered marble floors, the staircase and the french windows. Four banners hung from the walls with words emblazoned on them: Tradition, Discipline, Strength and Endurance. 

A few boys in uniform whispered as they passed, giggling when Tommy tripped on the stairs. 

Mr. Ramsden never broke his long stride and Tommy had to nearly run to keep up.

"Third floor is the senior lads. Breakfast is at seven, followed by mass." He opened a door. "This is your room. Your uniform is laid out for you and your schedule is on the table. Put it on and be down for supper at six." 

The footman lugged the trunk inside, setting it at the foot of the bed and tipped his hat on his way out. 

"Thank you." Tommy absently returned the servant's nod. His head was whirling with information and his eyes flit around the room, settling on the second bed. 

"Sir?" Tommy spun, just as the door was closing. Mr. Ramsden scowled and made an impatient gesture. "Who is my roommate?" 

"Blake Swanson. A real man in the making. His father is General of the British army. You'd do well to learn from him." The man promptly shut the door and his quick steps faded down the hall. There was a keyhole, but Tommy hadn't been given a key. 

He took a breath and headed for the drawers, keeping his trembling hands busy as he unpacked. 

He hung up his coat in the closet and undressed. He had just buttoned his grey breeches, when the door opened. He spun around, clutching the shirt to his chest. 

A tall boy entered, around his own age. He had broad shoulders, sun-tanned skin and dark hair curling in a heavy forelock over his eyes. 

"I thought you were coming tomorrow." The boy grinned and stuck out a hand. "I'm Blake." 

"Tommy." He smiled shyly and shook with his free hand. "It's a pleasure." 

"Likewise." Blake had stormy blue eyes and an unwavering stare that made Tommy want to squirm. He barely resisted the urge. 

"I've been looking forward to having a roommate. So long as you're not a complete wanker." Blake grinned, blue eyes crinkling with humor. Tommy paled. His tutor would have tanned his hide if he spoke like that. 

"I-I'm nice. I promise." He stammered and Blake's smile softened. He squeezed Tommy's shoulder.

"I'm just teasing. Get dressed, we've got about ten minutes before supper and if you're late you get the birch." 

Tommy dressed in a hurry, fumbling with his cravat. "What's the birch?" 

Blake sent him a pitying look. "Hurry up." Was all he said. 

Heart thumping, Tommy stooped to pull on his shoes, but to his dismay they didn't fit. "They're too big." 

"Put more stockings on. Quickly." Blake moved to the door, holding it open expectantly. 

Tommy rolled on a second pair of socks and hurried after Blake. They moved down the stairs and into the lunch hall that was already bustling and noisy. Tommy's mouth felt dry. It was overwhelming to a boy that was used to quiet suppers with his elderly grandmother and only the occassional visitor. 

"Come on." Blake jerked his head toward a table and moved quickly through the crowd. People made way for him and Tommy followed gratefully at his heels. 

"Blake!" A small boy with brown skin and glossy black hair patted a gap on the bench and Blake sat. 

"Scoot down, Ed. This is my new roommate, Tommy." Blake said to a redhead beside him. 

Ed frowned, but elbowed his sidemate to make room on the bench. Tommy sat gingerly and smiled at Ed, probably short for Edward or Edmund. The boy looked away. 

Tommy tried to keep the hurt off his face and turned towards Blake instead. 

"This is Dom." Blake indicated the brown skinned boy beside him skin. He was whipcord thin with large dark eyes. He didn't look British. He looked like someone from another country. Tommy had never seen a foreigner before. 

"How do you do." Tommy nodded, intrigued, and Dom raised full black brows. The boys around them giggled and one of them repeated his words in a girlish voice. 

Tommy's neck warmed. Did he talk odd? He hadn't spoken to many boys his own age. Only the ones he'd met after mass or back when his parents had visitors, but that was a long time ago. 

"I'm doing most excellent, my very good man." Dom said in an exaggerated upper-class accent. The giggling became laughter and it wasn't pleasant.

"Stop it, Dom." Blake said quietly. 

Dom rolled his eyes and sat back. "Yes, Blake." He drawled, sounding insincere. 

Servants, and what appeared to be older students, placed platters of food on the table. Tommy's eyes fixed on a pork roast and his mouth watered. He had only had a few slices of bread for lunch, about six hours ago. 

The bell rang and they all stood for a prayer. Tommy made the sign of the cross and bowed his head in synchronicity with everyone else. He clasped his hands and the words rolled effortlessly off his tongue. 

"Amen." They finished and sat. 

Hands immediately grabbed for the food and the roast was the first to go. Tommy managed to secure himself a bread roll and some boiled potatoes. 

"Here." Blake cut off a slice of his pork and put it on Tommy's plate. 

"Thank you." Tommy said gratefully and a tall, pale haired boy sitting across from them snorted. 

"Aw. You helping another Molly, Blake?" The blond smirked. 

"I help everyone, George." Blake tore off a chunk of bread with his teeth and chewed, watching the blond steadily. "Even you. Remember?" 

George grumbled something and busied himself with his meal. 

Tommy's heart calmed a fraction as he sat beside Blake. He felt the boy's hip press reassuringly against his, and he thought, maybe life at school wouldn't be so bad after all. 

That evening he brushed his teeth in the communal water closet. He'd spotted the baths in another room, porcelain tubs lined up in rows, and settled for splashing his face with water. 

He caught a glimpse of his own pale face in the hazy mirror, blue eyes shadowed with exhaustion. He fumbled for a comb in his pocket and brushed his tangled black hair. Grandmother hadn't tolerated a messy appearance. 

A dull pain spread through his chest and Tommy shuffled back to his room, crawling beneath the crisp white sheets. They didn't smell like the lavender cotton he was used to and there was no grandfather clock ticking on the wall. 

The boys in the next rooms had all gone quiet, after the bell rang. The only sound was the whine of the wind outside. Tommy knew he needed sleep, but his mind wouldn't quiet. 

His grandmother hadn't been the affectionate sort. She had been terse and strict and she hadn't once told him she loved him. But she had taken him in, when his parents had passed, and she had kept him fed and dressed and healthy. 
She even hired a private tutor, when she didn't find the local school satisfactory. And she had been the only family he knew. The only protection he had in a country teeming with orphans. How did they survive all alone? And what was a workhouse like? 

The tears spilled over and he muffled a sob into his pillow, body trembling. 

"Hey." He heard Blake's bed creak and then a warm hand touched Tommy's shoulder. "Don't be embarrassed. I cried my eyes out on my first night." 

"How old were you?" Tommy sniffled. 

"Eight." Blake stroked Tommy's arm. "But age doesn't matter. We all get homesick, but you'll see your family again at the end of term. What are they like? Any siblings?" 

"None." Tommy cleared his throat. "My parents died in a boating accident when I was six and my grandmother passed last week. I don't have anyone else." 

Saying it out loud sounded even worse and the tears ran hot down Tommy's cheeks. 

"Bloody hell!" Blake's crude words startled Tommy into a hiccup. "That's terrible. That's...Tom, I'm sorry. So bloody sorry." 

"It's not your fault. Thank you for today, you've been very kind." 

"Don't mention it." Blake muttered. 

Tommy closed his eyes, reassured by the warmth of the boy's hand on his arm. 

He didn't remember falling asleep, but suddenly hands were tearing him from his bed and a blindfold wrapped tight around his head. He managed a short scream, before a ball of fabric was stuffed into his mouth and secured with a cord. His ankles and wrists were tied too and boys giggled in his ear. 

He was jostled around, squirming and screaming behind his gag. Doors creaked open and suddenly he felt cold air on his cheeks and damp grass beneath his feet. His ropes were cut and his nightshirt was ripped over his head. His gag was loosened. 

He shivered and clutched his arms, naked and terrified out of his mind. 

"Sing to us!" Someone shouted. 

"W-who are you?" Tommy trembled and strained to hear the whispers around him. 

"Do it or you'll drink something foul!" A voice threatened close to him and he flinched back. 

He was surrounded, vulnerable and blind in the dark. He sang a hoarse and stuttery version of Amazing Grace. It had been one of his grandmother's favorite hymns. 

His throat tightened with grief and tears soaked into the blindfold. Scornful laughter sounded and when he had finished their applause was mocking. 

Without warning, they pounced on him, lifting him and tossing him into the air. Over and over. He screamed each time he felt the sickening drop, never knowing if hands would catch him or if he would hit the ground. 

Suddenly he was thrown sideways and plunged into water. The cold shocked his nerves and closed over his head, gushing painfully up his nose. He flailed in darkness and his mouth opened in a silent scream. Icy water surged into his throat, rapidly filling his stomach. 

A hand clamped onto his arm and hauled him up. His head broke the surface and he hacked and vomited water, feeling his rescuers legs churn beneath the waves. 

"That's against the rules, Blake!" George's voice echoed from somewhere. "He's supposed to make it out on his own!" 

"And you were supposed to take the blindfold off." Blake shouted. "I say he made it. Get back to your rooms!" 

Tommy felt slimy mud and stones beneath his feet and he tore at the blindfold, but it was wrapped too tight. "Get this off me!" 

"Keep still." 

Tommy heard the snick of a blade and then cold metal pressed against his temple and sliced through fabric. He gazed up at Blake blankly for a moment, feeling his pulse thundering in his throat. Then he registered the moonlit lake they were standing in and noticed the faint figures with torches in the distance, heading back towards the school. 

"I c-can't swim." Tommy's teeth clattered. "W-Why? Why would they d-do that?" 

"We do it to everyone." Blake said curtly and tugged Tommy toward the river bank. There was a crumpled robe lying in the grass and Blake wrapped it around Tommy's shoulders. 

Two adult men were waiting by the doors with lanterns and one of them nodded towards Tommy, as though approving. The boy averted his eyes and hurried inside. 

Back in their room, he dropped the wet robe to the floor and dived for his bed, bawling into his pillow.

"Shh shh shh." Blake slipped in beside him, tucking the smaller boy against his chest. Tommy latched onto Blake's shoulders and sobbed into his neck. 

"W-why would they do that?" He asked again. "W-why w-would you do that?" 

Blake's hand stroked his back. "We all have to do it. It's a rite of passage or some such nonsense. The boys are usually juniors. I hate it." 

"I hate you." Tommy retorted through grit teeth, clinging to the taller boy for dear life. 

"I'm not fond of me either." Blake sighed, breath warm in Tommy's ear. "But it's not like we have a choice. You saw the masters at the door. A boy got away once and he was expelled. They made up some excuse, but we all knew the real reason." 

"I want to go home." Tommy sniffled. 

"Shh." Blake stroked Tommy's hair.

He was growing tired, worn out from stress, fear and too little sleep. He closed his eyes, soothed by the feel of Blake's firm skin against him. He was too exhausted to wonder if it was strange to hold another boy like this.