Dennis Bishop awoke to darkness. He could hear a faint ringing in his ears, and his eyes hurt terribly. He could see nothing through them, though. Was he going blind? No, Dennis decided, he was not, as what appeared to be the ceiling of a very clean – and very white room – faded slowly into view.

Where was he? For a few minutes, Dennis simply continued to stare at the ceiling, breathing low, steady breaths. He was reminded vaguely of something, but he could not place his finger on it. As the seconds ticked by, Dennis felt a sharp pain in his neck and upper back. He needed to sit up.

Dennis placed his hands on either side of him, and slowly hoisted himself up. Almost instantly, the room went black again, blood rushing from his head to his body. He blinked a few times, and the black went away. A sinking feeling was washing over him like a wave, steady and cold. Dennis was reminded of something very distant, as he looked about the room he was in. Very clean, very white, and, if he had had to describe it further, very bland.

As he let his eyes drift about the room further, he noticed a girl about his age lying in one of the cots in the room, staring at the ceiling just as he had earlier. She wore her hair in braids, and her breathing was shallow. Who was she?

Overwhelmed with curiosity, Dennis threw the sheets of his cot off of him, and stumbled over to the girl. She would have been quite pretty if she did not have her mouth open, drooling ever so slightly, and eyes rolled back in her head.

"Wake up," Dennis said – or tried to say. The words didn't come out of his mouth properly, as they had been in his head. Again, he said, "Wake up", only this time, in more of a harsher tone. A ghost of a whisper floated out of his mouth, and down to the girl below him.

She must have heard what he said, because her eyes snapped open. She processed her situation far quicker than Dennis had, because immediately, she sat up, before clutching at her head. Her eyes found his, and she spoke in the same voice that he had:

"Who are you? Where am I?"

Dennis could only frown at her, a look of worry fixed upon his face. "I'm Dennis. Dennis Bishop?" This girl gave him a strange feeling of déjà vu. He was absolutely certain he had seen her before this moment.

"I'm Amy," she said timidly. "Where are my parents?"

Dennis' eyes widened ever so slightly, in remembrance. He had had a dream . . . Maybe he was still dreaming. He quickly shut his eyes. Wake up . . . Wake up . . . . .

Nothing happened. He met Amy's eyes once more. "Did you have a dream?"

Amy's face was contorted in concentration. "I . . . think so. But it didn't seem like a dream. It seemed . . . real, somehow."

"What did you see?" Dennis was starting to get excited.

Amy's eyes dropped to her hands, which rested immobile in her lap. "I saw my mum and dad. They were in a hotel on a balcony, and dad was reading a newspaper." She looked back up at Dennis, and continued, in a voice cracked with emotion. "There was an explosion, I'm not sure where it came from. They were gone." Dennis put his arm around Amy's shoulder, starting to understand.

Amy simply stared at the blankness of one of the room's walls. "There was something else that I saw, though. A boy."

"A boy?" Dennis furrowed his brow in concentration. "Are you sure?"

Amy nodded, and lay her head back onto her soft, feathered pillow. "With dark eyes . . . Black eyes, like staring into the soul of a demon . . . "

"But, there was no boy-" Dennis muttered, as she drifted away to sleep. He had a sinking feeling growing in his stomach. Life would not be the same, that was all he knew.

::::

Elizabeth felt the light of day consume her as she opened her eyes for the first time on the first Saturday of summer. She had no plans, and, for the first few seconds of the day, no worries. Quickly, she threw on a knee-length skirt, and a turquoise blouse with a particular flowy quality to it. To top off the look, Elizabeth pulled her ginger hair back with a ribbon to match.

She hurried downstairs to the mess hall, where she intended to plan out the day, bit by bit, until the meal was over. Perhaps a walk in downtown London, Elizabeth wondered, as she jumped over the last three stairs, with a rather "unladylike" landing, as Mrs. Cole might say.

Maybe take a book, too, to read in the park . . .

Elizabeth stopped dead, as she locked eyes with a fellow orphan on the other end of the mess hall. Somehow, something told her, that this would not turn out to be the day she had fantasized.

With less of a spring in her step, she walked over to where Tom Riddle stood, scooping some watery oatmeal into a bowl. "Good morning," Elizabeth muttered, as she got a bowl for herself.

Tom spun around, wearing the same irate look he always did. Today, however, it dissipated and was replaced with somewhat of an "Oh, I know you" look.

"Have a nice evening?" He said, turning back to the table of food.

Elizabeth gave an inward sigh. "I'm sorry about yesterday. I was tired, and-"

"No, you weren't." Tom shook his head as he strolled to an empty seat at the end of one of the long, mahogany tables in the mess hall. One was usually for the girls, the other for the boys. Tom's seat was totally isolated from the other boys' seats. While the majority of the orphan boys sat close to the door, Tom sat close to the food, by himself. Elizabeth, feeling as if she were invited to sit down as well, did so.

"And there's no need to feel sorry," Tom continued, as he peered at the other boys, some of which had already noticed Elizabeth sitting at the boys' table. "But, in the future, I would prefer if we weren't to have any more . . . rows."

Elizabeth took a bite of her oatmeal, and turned bright pink as some of the members of the girls' table noticed where she sat. Their eyes were widened, and some of them laughed. She nodded absentmindedly.

Tom seemed to have noticed the girls as well, because he shot a harsh, stone-cold look their way, that seemed to make it stop. "You're weak, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth furrowed her brow, looking down at her oatmeal furiously. "Oh?"

"I just mean in the sense that you care about what other people think." Tom shook his head, as if he were a parent trying to teach a child that couldn't comprehend what he was saying.

"But they're . . . . my friends!" Elizabeth said defiantly, only to receive a skeptically raised eyebrow from the boy seated next to her.

"You haven't got any friends, Warren," Tom said. Elizabeth let that sink in. No, no, she did not. But the subtleness got to her, and she felt stupid. "And good thing, too. All the people here are imbeciles. The boys are apes, and the girls think they're princesses living in a fairytale. No one here has got any brains!" He scooped a bite of oatmeal into his mouth, with a distinct ferocity that swiftly changed to disgust. "Who cooked this?"

Elizabeth sniggered. "Martha, I believe. She's the caretaker."

"Even Dennis Bishop could cook something better than this." Tom stopped abruptly, remembering. "He was the biggest ignoramus I've ever had the misfortune of coming into contact with . . ."

"And so you tortured him," Elizabeth rolled her eyes, setting down her spoon. It really was terrible, and she did not wish to eat any more.

"Will you give that a rest?" Tom glared at her, but she did not flinch. "I have a conscience, you know."

"You could've fooled me," Elizabeth retorted, her eyes flashing. "Tom."

Tom gave an irritated twitch, almost as if there was a fly buzzing around his head that he could not swat. "Riddle, if you don't mind. Or Marvolo, in less formal instances."

Elizabeth almost laughed out loud. "'Marvolo'? Whoever would name their child-?"

"Then just Riddle, if you think it's that terrible." Tom sounded defensive.

"No, I don't think it's terrible. Well, it sort of is, but-" Elizabeth's voice drifted away. She didn't dare say anything else. "Have you any plans for today?"

Tom clasped his hands together on the table, and shut his eyes. "Hmmmm . . ." Elizabeth suddenly wished she hadn't asked. "No," he said at last, his dark eyes snapping open, "You?"

For a silent moment, Elizabeth hid away in her palace of thoughts. Did she really want Tom tagging along with her for the entire day? She sneaked a glance at him. He was continuing to stare at the girls, his eyes flashing dangerously. If he were less menacing, she figured, Tom would have friends.

He was attractive, that was for sure, but Elizabeth couldn't see how anyone would want to court him. With a temper like the one that he possessed, Tom was as dangerous as a ticking time bomb.

Elizabeth pulled herself out of her thoughts, and looked away from Tom, so as to prevent any further "ideas" about him.

"Well," she spoke at last, using as collected a tone as she could muster, "I was planning on taking a walk in the park, or going downtown."

Tom gave a sigh as he stood up, and put his half-full bowl on the food counter. "I can't eat any more of this." He turned to Elizabeth, and gave her a forced smile. It didn't suit him, and it was very unpleasant to look at; it made Elizabeth very uncomfortable. "Have a decent walk, then, I suppose."

She was taken aback. Elizabeth had been under the impression that he was going to come with her. "Aren't you coming with me?" She asked dumbly. "I thought you weren't doing anything today."

Tom shook his head, rolling his eyes. "I meant I wasn't doing anything that concerned you, or that needed you to tag along with me."

"Oh." Elizabeth felt blood rush to her ears. They were probably a bright pink color, just like her face. "So what are you doing?"

He just frowned. "It isn't quite your business, Warren."

Elizabeth stood up and placed her plate on top of Tom's, feeling stupid. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude." It was almost as if, despite the fact that he was the same age as she was, Tom was several years older than her. The way he spoke was harsh and commanding, and the words he had stored in his arsenal of a vocabulary were far more advanced than the words of their peers.

"Have you seen Bishop or Benson lately?" He asked, raising an eyebrow almost as if it were second nature.

"Er . . . no," she answered. Tom strode rather quickly out of the mess hall, Elizabeth at his heels, her red hair flying out behind her like a sail. They turned down a corner, and entered through a door labeled as "The Hospital Quarters".

Amy and Dennis did look much better. They, for one, were sitting up in their beds and whispering to each other, while taking occasional sips from two glasses of water that sat on a side table between their two beds. Still, Elizabeth could tell that they weren't fully well. Dark rings sagged underneath both of their eyes, a sign of extreme tiredness. Besides that, the two of them didn't react nearly as much as Elizabeth had intended them to, when Tom entered the room.

Instead of the horrified muffled screams she had anticipated, Amy and Dennis simply glanced at him, as if acknowledging his presence. Elizabeth was completely ignored. But she hadn't honestly expected much, considering the fact that the pair didn't know her anyway.

Tom seated himself at the edge of Amy's bed, as if he owned the place, and looked straight into her eyes. "Good to see you, Benson."

"You . . as well . . ." She spoke slowly, but clearly.

"And you, Bishop?" Tom asked, turning to the pimpled boy. Dennis nodded slowly. "Good, good."

"They're speaking!" Elizabeth cried despite herself. "Tom, they're speaking!" Tom gave the same twitch as before, and she corrected herself. "Riddle, I mean. But do they remember anything?"

Tom gave a smile. It wasn't as forced as before, but, somehow, this one looked worse on him. "No. They only remember me."

"Then . . . why aren't they scared of you?" Elizabeth let her eyes stray to Amy and Dennis' demented faces, feeling a twang of pity for the two of them.

The same smile was fixed on Tom's face. Part of Elizabeth just wanted to wipe the expression off of his face. It did not suit him. His smile sent chills up her spine; it was so crazed. "They remember my face, and they remember what I showed them. But they don't know that it was I who gave the vision to them."

A knot in Elizabeth's stomach formed, and tightened so that she felt at a loss for breath. A darkness enveloped her, and she was falling. Falling . . . Falling . . . . No impact ever came. The last thing Elizabeth saw as she shut her eyes, were the pair in front of her – the sable ones that towered over her. The crazed ones. The ones she kept swimming in.

"Mrs. Cole! Mrs. Cole, come quick . . ."

If you enjoyed this chapter, please be sure to review! :) (Also, thank you for all the kind reviews I received last chapter. I seriously apprecate it. ;p)