The Tree of Blacks (English version)

Number twelve, Grimmauld Place

November 1966. Grimmauld Place.

Mr and Mrs Murray had recently moved to Grimmauld Place, in London.

Before the Murrays lived in a small village, nestled in the wide moorland. But Mr Murray had got a new job in a small company in the capital, run by an old family friend, and this was undoubtedly an excellent career opportunity for Mr Murray, so he and his wife gladly agreed to the move.

In just a few weeks, they managed to find a fairly affordable apartment in the Grimmauld Place neighborhood.
And so finally, after arranging the rental paperwork, they packed up the few things they had and left, leaving behind their house and the moorland.

The Murrays had a young son called Thomas - but everyone called him Tommy - who was ten years old. Tommy was a very curious and smart child and, as his parents did, he welcomed the idea of ​​the move with sincere enthusiasm. Or, at least, before arriving in Grimmauld Place.

In the days before the departure, Tommy had often fantasized about his new life in the capital. In the naivety typical of his age, he had daydreamed about the house in which he would have lived, the bedroom where he would have slept and spent time doing his homework, and the new friends he would have met.

Unfortunately, little Tommy had been pretty disappointed when he first had seen Grimmauld Place. He had quickly realized that he had set foot in the most battered of London's neighborhoods and his new home was not quite what he had imagined.

It was a dull, grey afternoon when our story starts. Tommy was wandering aimlessly through the street of Grimmauld Place, looking around with an expression halfway between curious and disgusted. The buildings of Grimmauld Place were all nearly identical, with their filthy and scruffy facades, and the window panes were broken and dull, thick with grime. The patches of grass that dotted the road were left uncultivated; several garbage bags lay abandoned on the sidewalk that lined the street and the air was full of the classic pungent smell of rotten waste.

After walking for a while, Tommy slumped bored on one of the benches that lined the street, which looked miserable, too. He took a snack out of the pocket of his trousers, which he had stolen from the kitchen, without being seen by his mother before leaving; he noisily unwrapped it and bit into it voraciously. He felt the sugary taste expand rapidly inside his mouth.

"You there!" a shrill, unfamiliar voice called to him.

Tommy turned and noticed a group of three boys and a little girl standing a few steps from him: from a first glance, it was clear that the three must have been more or less the same age as Tommy. Instead, the girl looked younger than them.

The one who had spoken to Tommy was a blond boy, a little taller than the others, thin and lanky. He had freckles scattered all over his nose and watery blue eyes which were now looking at Tommy with suspicion. A few meters behind him, he was supported by two other boys, a round one with a sweet and plump face, not at all threatening, with dark hair and brown eyes; the other boy was skinny, with red hair. He wore thick-lensed glasses and his front teeth protruded a little. Finally, closing the line was the girl, who seemed a bit at sea. She wore long, slightly disheveled blond braids that fell down her chest and she had the same watery blue eyes as the first child. Tommy guessed they probably must be brother and sister.

Tommy watched them silently and defensively, as he chewed the bite of his snack.

"Are you new? I've never seen you here before." asked the blond boy.

Tommy nodded, swallowing the bite.

"Yes, I recently moved." he replied, letting his guard down.
The kid seemed friendly, after all.