Two days later, I woke in a strange room. Never had I seen a place like this before and for a second I thought I was in hospital but, the lack of equipment soon erased that idea. It was small and contained one bed and one wardrobe; not that I had any possessions to put in it... Wiping sleep from my eyes, I searched my brain for answers but still, I had no idea where I was or why I was here, yet, I figured it had something to do with the fire. Speaking of fire…I glanced down at my body relieved to find all my wounds had healed, as expected. I wondered idly if anyone else noticed how fast I recovered...

The door creaked open and a skinny, harassed looking woman entered. Again I blinked. What was going on? I eyed her with suspicion and she gave me what she thought was a true smile. Who was she? What did she want?

Neither of us seemed willing to speak and the silence that followed her entrance was awfully awkward. After a while of sitting and staring, waiting for nothing to happen, I broke the quiet, "Who are you? Where am I?"

"You're in an orphanage," she replied softly, allowing the sentence to hang coldly in the stillness that preceded her statement.

I swallowed excess saliva thinking her sentence through. What the hell was I doing in an orphanage? Perhaps I had miss-heard? I decided to make sure, "A-What?"

"I'm Mrs. Cole," she pulled that false smile again, ignoring my outburst.

"Bethany Miller," I mumbled pathetically introducing myself, questioning her once more, "Why am I here?"

"Because…" she seemed hesitant to give me an explanation, "Well…ah...both your adoptive parents were killed in the house fire. Sorry," she sounded far from it. Her words however had their desired effect.

Instantly, I felt a stab to my heart as if it were being ripped in two... Even though they were not my real parents their deaths still had an impact on me and now I was left with an empty hole deep inside... A single warm tear cascaded gently down my cheek.

Mrs. Cole stood up looking uncomfortable, "Well... if you need anything just...ah... let me know," she gave one last phony grin before leaving the room, leaving me to sit alone on the bed in my grief not knowing how to really deal with it.

I took a deep breath before letting out a shoulder shaking sob. Never had I intended on being shipped into an orphanage… then again I hadn't expected a severe house fire to wipe out my family...

It was a few hours later that Mrs. Cole returned to tell me that I was allowed downstairs to see the other children and I thought as she left my room again, I would do just that; anything to escape my grief...

Everything felt surreal, different; like another world…a world I had no connection to...or ever will...

Downstairs, I entered a large room which looked oddly like a play room; a depressing kind of place filled with broken toys and used books. Here the other orphans sat together playing tatty old board games or else trying to decipher reading books too advanced for their age. My entrance turned them away from their activities and curiosity crossed their features.

So many pairs of different eyes were upon me…I felt overwhelmed. They continued to stare as I walked across the room, so I bowed my head and watched my own feet trudge tragically toward a corner.

Then another pair of feet blocked mine and I dared to look up.

A pale skinned boy with dark hair smirked at the sudden fear that I let spread across my face. Intimidation seemed to be his thing. "Who are you?" He demanded with a hidden hint of authority in his voice.

My grief ebbed away, slowly shifting into annoyance, "That would be none of your business."

Initially the look upon his face was shock before it calmly turned to murder. Fear clawed up my throat but I refused to let it show. His eyes narrowed to small slits, "We shall see," he whispered venomously.

I watched the boy walk away and I soon realised the room was awfully quiet. Nobody had moved an inch from before but their appearance had changed to one of absolute alarm and terror. Confused, I turned to the room.

"What?" I asked to nobody in particular.

"You should be careful how you act around Tom Riddle," a girl sitting in a corner piped up.

"Who are you?" I demanded.

"Amy Benson," she replied matter-of-factly.

"And why, Amy, should I be careful as to how I act around this Tom Riddle?" A hint of sarcasm was layered through my voice.

"He will hurt you," she replied seriously.