A/N: This story was written in response to an act of total insanity…what would Rumer possibly be like if she were her exact opposite…hmm. So I started on this project…please review and tell me what you think.
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize is not mine. Simple enough.
Have fun, and please review! If you have to post a flame or two, make sure they're creative. I would hate to "accidentally" harm any mundane flame-givers. ^_^v Enjoy!
~~Rumer
Stranded
Prologue: Invitation to an Unknown Sanctuary
Fame and fortune didn't become her
So she stays pennyless
Needing so much more than tomorrow
As she stares at the scars on her wrist
She keeps running into herself
Hoping to find somebody else
She keeps running into herself
Hoping that she'll find somebody better
~ "Pennyless"
Performed by Plumb
Dear Tom,
I don't know why I'm sending you this. You probably wouldn't care whether I lived or died. But considering how I've been generally wrong in almost every assumption I've ever made, this letter is a 'just in case'. God, I don't know why I still care…Maybe it's because of the child.
Ah yes, the child…she has been progressing beautifully. She would have been powerful…perhaps the most powerful. But I have a decision to make, Tom. I can allow her to live in a world where everything is hostile and unfamiliar, or I can remove her from it entirely, as I plan to do to myself. Decisions, decisions…the plague of my life.
But…life will not be my problem anymore. Neither will it be for Tabris…I will spare her the terror I have been put through. Some-no, most of it has been caused by none other than…you. And you're supposed to be her father. Some parent you are, Tom.
But I am growing sentimental…and my time draws near. I'll do us both a favor and lessen your burden. You will have two less people to worry about, and the Riddle line will be eradicated. At least, unless you decide to totally destroy some other poor woman. In that case, I pray for her soul. But yours…
God be with you, Tom Riddle, for no one else will be.
Natalie
The young girl folded the letter and let it fall lightly to the oaken table. She clasped her hands together and leaned forward, and in this way rested her head upon her intertwined fingers. An expression of obviously deep thought was etched on her sharp features. This letter had fallen into her hands long ago as a final, parting token; taken from her mother's dead hands. It had taken a time to pry the parchment from the woman's grasp, especially for a child, but she had managed it. Death makes its victims rather possessive of their mortal trifles.
Since then, the girl had read and re-read the letter, which was obviously not addressed to her but to someone named Tom Riddle. How odd. In the fifteen years she had been living, the girl had never heard of such an individual. Her mother's name had been long since forgotten, and even that little piece of information was trivial and was almost made obsolete, even to her impeccable memory.
The girl looked thoughtful, tapping her pointer finger against her chin. A silver ring was on the tapper; a slight breach of protocol in that rings should only be worn on the ring finger. But it was obvious that this ring was incredibly oversized for its owner's long, thin fingers; thus it could only be worn on the offending appendage. The girl continued to tap her chin absentmindedly, the green stone of the ring winking in the moonlight streaming through an open window. A cool summer breeze wafted through the drapes, taking hold of the parchment and making it float across the room like a trawler in a tempest. In one fluid, catlike motion, the girl stood and snapped out her hand, taking hold of the ancient paper before it had been airborne for ten seconds. Smoothing it out lovingly, the girl sat back down and stared at the old letter. Reaching into her robes, she drew a silver knife out into the moonlight. The metal glinted invitingly, as if begging to be used.
At that moment, an eagle owl soared through the open shutters and, letting out a hoot, dropped a thick letter before the girl. After fluttering around the baroque-style room for a few moments, it flew back out.
Tucking a lock of silver hair behind her ear, the girl picked up the heavy envelope and, with a flick of her nail, tore it open. Inside were two pieces of parchment. She took one out and read it aloud.
"Dear Miss Kaeru Zeruel, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry…"
Suddenly, the girl slowly put the letter down and rose silently to her feet. Her hair floated around her like a silver cloak, falling almost to her waist. Catlike ice-blue eyes narrowed, and she strode over to the window and let out a scream. Not a scream of terror; not a scream of anger; not a scream of happiness…
But a scream of overpowering relief.