Author's note: Hey, this is my first fic and I hope you like it! Please review! I'd like to see how I'm doing.

Disclaimer: Let's see...you know the characters that belong to J.K. Rowling, and I would never ever ever claim them for my own...so there! Heheh. But I did make up Tomarra Riddle.

1: The final hiding place

Torrents of rain fell out of the lightning streaked, cloudy sky. The howling wind threatened to knock over trees in the nearby forest, and the deafening thunder made the ground tremble with every roar. A bolt of lightning darted across the sky, illuminating a pair of great, oaken doors of a castle, in front of which there stood a woman, hooded and cloaked, shrouded from the ever heavily falling rain.

Tomarra Riddle stared up in awe at the enormous edifice in front of her. She wasn't much for what she was about to offer; in fact, her cowardice was the only thing that had driven her here this stormy night. For if she was accepted, she would have the refuge she sought—safe and out of his reach. The search for Tomarra Riddle, however small it may be, was bound to have started up again since he had returned. It would be small because of the fact that very few people really knew what and who she was. Only five to be exact, including her dead mother: Lucious Malfoy, Bellatriz Lestrange, Rodolphus Lestrange, and, of course, her father Tom Marvolo Riddle, Lord Voldemort, He-who-must-not-be-named, the man who had destroyed her life a little more than 20yrs ago when he sent the previous three to ravage her mother's house. Sintheya Alonna Riddle had left Tom Riddle when Tomarra was only a year old, after becoming concerned about her husband's deep fascination in the Dark Arts. Thirteen years later, however, when he was about halfway into his reign as the fearsome Lord Voldemort, he discovered the two women's whereabouts, sending his three Death Eaters to invade their house. They killed the older woman slowly, painfully, torturously, forcing the 14yr old to watch her mother suffer, listen to her agonizing screams of pain and misery before bringing her back to her father, the Dark Lord. He forced her to bear his mark and become one of his followers, and every Christmas and summer she returned to him to learn the Dark Arts so that she could be of use to his cause when she finished school. He kept her existence a secret from all but those who had fetched her. They helped train her as well, making her one of the most learned—if not the most learned—follower he possessed. The only problem was that he had overestimated the girl's loyalty to him, and soon she had run off never to return.

Tomarra had been hiding ever since. That was why she now stood in front of the enormous castle. She feared the wrath of her ruthless father, feared that inevitable day in the future when they would cross paths again, feared the punishment of the same sort of fate her mother had received.

No sooner had this thought sent chills down her spine, than she felt a searing pain burning on her left arm. She had felt many of these over the past 21yrs, and each blistering pain seemed to hurt worse than those that had preceded it. Rubbing the spot with her other hand, she hurried into the castle.

The enormous entrance hall was deserted. She let down the hood of her sopping cloak, revealing her long, wavy, black hair and a pair of brown eyes flecked with bits of red. She gazed around the room and called out, "Hello?"

There was no answer, only the echoes of the voice bouncing off the stone walls. Tomarra frowned and walked a little further inside. 'A place this big should have a map,' she thought irritably, for she had never been inside Hogwarts before. Giving the enormous room on final look around, she waved her wand, vanishing the puddle of water that she had been trailing. She gave her wand another little wave, releasing a jet of warm air that she used to dry her sodden robes. But no sooner had she completed this task and returned the wand to her pocket when there came the sudden shock of ice cold water falling over her head. Tomarra gave a small shriek and jumped to one side, almost slipped but catching herself. Next, something hard and heavy fell over her head and all she could see was darkness.

Mischievous laughter rang from somewhere above her head. Tomarra pulled the object off her head­—a metal bucket—and looked upward, scowling at an ugly little man floating in the air, doubled over with laughter. "Ha ha haaaaa!" he laughed as he turned upside down, and Tomarra feared that he would be the next thing to fall over her head. "You wet yourself, you did! Aren't you a little old for that sort of thing?"

Tomarra had had enough. Now she had two paining spots to deal with and he was making fun of her! She glared up at the little man one last time before tapping the bucket with her wand and pointing it at him. The bucket flew out of her hands and pelted itself at the floating man, who stopped laughing at once and looked at it curiously until it started banging itself against him.

He gave her one last angry look before flying through one of the doors beside the marble staircase, trying to block the pail's constant attacks while cursing her. The pail, however, could not go through the door and was left repeatedly hitting the door. Tomarra shot sparks at the door and the pail continued to chase after the man. With him gone, Tomarra gingerly touched the painful spot on her head. She winced. There was a bump there alright.

"Oh great job, Tomarra!" she said aloud to herself. "You've not been here ten minutes and you've already made a…friend."

"Bravo."

The voice was a new one and came from the marble staircase. She looked up at it and saw a man with greasy black, shoulder length hair walking down toward her.

"I see you have met the school poltergeist, Peeves?"

"Er—yes," she answered and with a forced smile added, "Charming sense of humor. Very…funny." She pocketed her wand, and the man smirked in return: an awkward silence followed until, with a note of impatience in his voice, he asked, "Looking for something?:

At these words Tomarra was brought back to the reason she was even here. "Yes, actually," she replied, pushing some of her matted, wet hair out of her face. "I'm here to see the headmaster—" she raised her eyebrows questioningly "—Albus Dumbledore?"

He nodded. His face was crossed by a look of mingled disappointment and anger, but he asked calmly, "Defense Against the Dark Arts?" Tomarra nodded. "Very well, follow me." And with that, he turned around and climbed back up the staircase.

Tomarra tagged along behind, and for a time neither person spoke. She was too busy taking in every magnificent detail, from the paintings to the walls to the statues. This place was much different from the place she had gone to school…She was lead up another staircase, but halfway up it, she felt her leg slip through, and she let out a started "Umph!" She looked down and saw that one of the stairs had disappeared. When she looked up she grabbed the man's outstretched hand. He pulled her out with surprising ease for such a thin man and walked on, a smirk on his face. Soon she had been led to a giant gargoyle statue. He gave it a password (fainting fancies) and the stone effigy sprang aside to reveal a revolving staircase.

"The headmaster is at the top."

Tomarra glanced at the door at the top of the staircase then to her guide. "Thank you Mr.—"

"Snape," he said slowly. "Severus Snape." And he shook her hand.

"I'm Tomarra," she said back. "Just Tomarra, last name's not important."

This answer seemed to amuse him but he turned back the way he had come and disappeared from her sight. For the first time since the bucket had landed on her head, she realized that she was still wet. She used the same spell she had before and dried off a second time. A few minutes later she was dry and looked back up to the door behind which her fate would be decided. She took a calming breath, willing her legs to take her up, but they would not.

"Sometime today would be nice, lady," the gargoyle pushed her.

"I'm going, I'm going," Tomarra murmured, finally moving up towards the door. When she reached the top, she merely stood there staring at the door. She took one more deep breath.

---

Albus Dumbledore sat alone in his study, looking out the window, watching the tempest outside. The first day of school was fast approaching and still he had not given a single interview for the empty post—other than Severus, of course. The headmaster smiled. The Potions Master never failed to show up, and it always astounded Dumbledore to see the young man return year after year only to be rejected. He frowned. He was actually debating whether he ought to give Severus the job this year. Sure, if he did, he would be back where he started, searching for a new Potions teacher (which would probably be easier to find since no one thought that job to be cursed). Dumbledore knew that man was a very competent applicant with much that he could teach the students, especially with the dark times returning.

Albus buried his head in his hands and closed his eyes. He was getting desperate, and even though the Ministry was no longer in doubt of Voldemort's return, he would prefer it if he himself could find someone for the job…. There was a knock on the door and he jerked his head up. Perhaps…

He called for the person to enter and a young witch in a long, black traveling cloak walking in. She was probably about the same age as Severus and appeared to be nervous. Her eyes swept around the room for a moment and finally focused on his. She let out a long, slow breath and asked, "Professor Dumbledore?" He nodded to her and she carried on: "I-I'm here for the Defense Against the Dark Arts post."

The headmaster smiled cheerfully. This woman was a life saver! "Why, have a seat, please!" he said, motioning to the chair across from him. He rummaged through his drawer for a few sheets of parchment and a quill as she sat down and gave him a weak smile. "I was beginning to think that nobody would turn up," he told her as he settled everything on the desk and looked cheerfully at her again. "And what would your name be, miss?"

"Oh yes—my name," she said in a strange, far off sort of voice, as she looked apprehensively at the parchment over which his hand was poised to write, "is Tomarra. Tomarra…Riddle."

His hand stopped. He looked up at the woman. Had he heard her correctly? Had she said Riddle? She was looking not at him, but out the window where the winds outside were swirling the rain around.

"Riddle?" he repeated incredulously, and she nodded, still watching the weather outside. "As in Tom Riddle?" The woman hesitated a moment and nodded again, but this time she tore her eyes from the window to his haggard face. "Yes. Tom Riddle is—was—my father. But Tom Riddle no longer exists. Not anymore. He's too changed," she said bitterly, with her arms crossed and her eyes down on the parchment. She quickly tore her eyes from it and directed them to his. "If you don't want me to continue, I understand and will leave right now, but…" she sighed.

Albus continued to stare at her, dumbfounded. Should he trust her? Then thinking of some past choices, decided yes. After all, everyone deserved a second chance, right? And who was he to say that this young woman had ever used up her first one? He looked into her eyes sternly.

"By no means will I have you just leave this office, if there is no reason for it. But I was just wondering, may I see your hand?" He reached out his left hand to her, still watching her eyes intently. A small flash of fear shot over them but disappeared almost instantly and she gave him her left hand. He seized it and pulled up her sleeve past her forearm. He saw what he was looking for and his facial expression took a grim turn.

Tomarra looked shock and wrenched her arm from his grasp. "How did you know?" she gasped, breathless, he supposed, at the shock of his knowledge. He ignored the question.

"You are a Death Eater?" he questioned somberly.

"Was, actually," she responded, eyes still wide with shock, "but not by choice."

He gave her a questioning look, and she told him the story of her abduction and escape. When she had finished, he decided to start the interview anew. She did very well, and in the end he deemed her a commendable candidate for the job. He showed her her room, told her when to show up, and led her back to the entrance. And as he watched the cloaked figure of his newest staff member disappear in the rain, Dumbledore hoped that he had not made a grave error in his judgment of the Dark Lord's daughter.