Princess of Terror
DISCLAIMER: I do NOT any of the Hogwarts' characters. I only own some of the plot. I fully own Dylan Riddle. I also do NOT own the poem in the 1st chapter. I also own any other character that I make up. You'll be able to tell which characters I will make up. If not e-mail me.
AUTHORS NOTE: NUMBER 1: I am not following the plot of the 5th book. Because I don't like the fact that J.K. Rowling killed off Sirius! But that's not all, I have just decided my own plot with some help of my friends.
NUMBER 2: I do not care if you flame me! Go ahead, this is for fun! I don't even care if anyone reads my stories. This is just for fun.
NUMBER 3: Dylan is pronounced Dillon!
Love y'all!
Dylan Black
Doomed...?
A young teenager lay awake above the noisy streets of London. She glared at her clock dreading the moment until the clock hit 12, midnight. Tick, tick, tick, and 'any moment' she thought. Beep, beep. It was midnight.
"Happy Birthday, Dylan Riddle." She whispered not wanting to wake the others in the orphanage from their slumber.
Yes, Dylan Riddle was now officially 15. The girl had long, waist length, black hair, which was always in her face. Her hair hid her most awful inheritance, blood red eyes. This last year though she had gotten contacts, that made her eyes silver.
This girl was one of the most feared, and respected girls in her year, even her school, in Drumstrang. All because of her last name, Riddle. Dylan Ann Riddle was born into a family of terror. Her father was Tom Riddle, or The Dark Lord to his followers, and the scared. Her mother, she was a power hungry whore. So on the night of July 31st , 1980 she was brought into this world. Princess of Terror.
At 6:30 Dylan got out of bed to go help Betty, the manager of the orphanage, in the kitchen. She ran her abnormally long fingers through her hair, and went down stairs.
"G'moring child! Happy birthday" smiled a plump little woman in her 30's.
"Ello Betty. Thanks." Dylan said plastering on her trademark-forged smile,
"What are we making this morning?"
"Thought pancakes would be a nice touch." She said rushing around the kitchen getting the ingredients.
"Sounds good to me" she said getting out the measuring cups.
After a good and hearty breakfast, the younger children decided to go play outside.
"Betty, I'm going to, I dunno. I'm going up stairs" Dylan called from the base of the stairs.
"Dylan dear, come here first" called Betty from the common room. Dylan stomped over to the quite cozy common room.
"Yea......" she asked impatiently.
"Well, Happy birthday" said Betty handing her a little package, wrapped in brown paper. Dylan's expressions soften.
"No Betty, I can't except that. I'm rea-"but Betty didn't let her finish.
"No dear. You deserve it. That no good father of yours-"she caught herself, "Please, take it for me?"
Dylan took the package from the lady's hand and gave her an one arm hug, "Thanks"
She left the room quietly and climbed the stairs two at a time. Though she really didn't have much to be to cheery about, seeing how she would have to go to Muggle School. This past year, her fourth year, Dylan was accepted to go to Hogwarts to be a spectator, nothing more. After the year and Harry Potter , bringing back the body the Cerdic, she had been thrown out of Drumstrang. In fear that her father would come and find her, and the headmaster being a former Death-eater saw this as a hazard.
Dylan finally reached her room and sat down on her little bed. Her carefully unwrapped her gift and when she opened it she saw a beautiful silver chain, with a locket attached. Inside the locket it read:
Dear Dylan,
A room of two-way mirrors is my fate,
with strangers looking at me,
dissecting my body and mind
with their cold eyes
and even colder words.
Forced to deal with their cynical
views of those that surround me.
They entrap me in their webs of self- consciousness.
But -
despite the empty stares,
and demandingly harsh words,
I untangle myself from their webs of destroyed dreams.
Then, I break the two-way mirrors
they watch my every move with.
I did not receive a spider bite,
or a cut from the broken glass.
Instead, I find myself in a world of refugees,
like me.
They, too, escaped their dooms.
Together we work at rebuilding
ourselves into the people we once were;
the people we admired before.-Kristen Perkins
May theses words Dylan guide you through life
-Betty
Dylan only had time to let one tear escape her apparent silver eyes. For there was a consent knocking at the window.