Rosamum sat stiffly upon her rocking chair, still and silent as the frigid fall air outside of the Majere's rickety cottage. The Widow Judith had only just gone out to purchase the week's groceries at the market but she was already losing touch with the world around her. Gray streaked strands of hair fell limply in to her vision and her eyes shifted minutely to stare at them.
Once, a very long time ago, Rosamum had the richest curls of copper brown hair in all of Palanthas. Soft not only to the touch but to the eyes as well, she was envied by all the other girls. She had been proud that her Raistlin had her hair, so proud. Both she and her boy looked so alike, so very alike. Yes, she loved her Raistlin, so very much. The corners of her mouth lifted slightly and she smiled fondly. Raistlin was her favorite.
So why, she had to wonder, did he leave? Didn't he want to stay with her, read stories and do sums with her? She had been so happy to regain awareness, all thanks to The Widow Judith whom she would be forever grateful to, but her joy was also tainted with despair. When she had 'woken up' she had been all alone. Gilon was there and her little Caramon—not so little anymore!—but her baby, her favorite was gone! She had been terrified, horrified and fearful. What had become of her Raistlin? He'd always been so frail…
Rosamum had been in a panic until her Caramon had told her the news, that her boy was at a school—a school!—for magic. That was ridiculous, she had thought. Her Raistlin didn't have magic. That was preposterous!
But as the winter months neared an end she eagerly awaited the spring and Raistlin's return home. She had deliriously pleased to see him, she smothered him and cried all over him as he sheld her with shaking hands. It was with utmost horror that she found her boy thin as a wraith and his skin burning. But it had always burned and he had always been thin so she didn't pay either thought too much attention.
No, Rosamum had buried her nose in the beautiful reddish hair and inhaled the scent of ink and lavender until she had calmed down enough to look her boy in the face. He was so handsome that her heart swelled with a warm tenderness. His eyes were unsettling to most but they drew her in, she drowned in their intensity and was resurrected with the knowledge that she gave birth to this boy; Her boy.
The time he had spent at home was the happiest that she could remember. Until The Widow Judith had pulled her aside. She told Rosamum that her boy was learning evil, that he was evil himself! Rosamum knew otherwise but a part of her clung to the idea. If she told her Raistlin than surely he would stay home with her forever, he wouldn't go away again for the winters.
So she told him. She ranted and raved but she could see a slight fear in his eyes. It wasn't the right fear though, it was fear of her. Rosamum had not liked it at all and she had dragged herself away from her boy and sat herself in her rocking chair.
And now, an hour after her Raistlin's departure, she sat alone.
Numbly, Rosamum turned her head to look out of the window and down at the people below. They were ants to her, as she floated through the sky and just below the clouds. No one took notice of her as she abandoned her home for another.
The sky was different in her other home. It was gray and rainy, with hardly any sun at all, especially at this time of the year, whatever time that was. People and places were also different in this place. They were rotten and wretched but she always came back. She had spent nearly a decade wandering and learning about this strange place. She would have left it immediately if not for one person, who was not so nasty and cruel. She watched him grow older and came to love him dearly.
Harry Potter was her Other Home son. He had to be, with his visions and his and his soft hair. His black messy hair. He had to be Gregor's Other Home son as well. He had to be for he was so wonderful and handsome and sweet. But he was like her Raistlin, so very thin. She knew if she had him he would be so happy and healthy, so much better.
His family upset her, with their boorishness and hatred. She would normally avoid them at all costs but as she floated in the large home—on the ground! Completely unprotected…-she realized a meeting was inevitable.
The family could not see her. They had never been able to see her or hear her screaming at them. They ignored her. It was one of the many reasons that Rosamum abhorred them.
And tonight the whole household was in the kitchen. Her boy was a fearful sight from where he stood in front of that strange, hot metal contraption. His bones protruded terribly and he had not gained a single inch in the year that she had spent away from him. And his beautiful eyes, those absolutely gorgeous emerald eyes, were dull and ringed with purple.
She hugged herself until he had finished his chore and produced dinner for his relatives. Her Other Home boy was shooed away from the room and he retreated weakly up the staircase to his bedroom where he curled upon his bed and fell asleep. Rosamum watched over him for a while before moving across the room to where a snowy white owl napped in her cage. Rosamum was incredibly fond of the bird as well. She had protected her Other Home boy so well whenever she was forced to leave.
The owl slowly opened her eyes to look straight at Rosamum, who smiled lovingly back. The owl blinked before closing her eyes once more. A rustling brought Rosamum back to her dear child once more and when she turned around it was to find him groaning and twisting on his bed, sweat already forming on his brow and tears overflowing.
Before she could figure out was wrong he screamed and burst into all out sobbing, clinging to his flat pillow desperately.
It was to her dismay that she heard the sound of pounding feet on the stairs, a prelude to the door being thrown open with enough forced to dent the wall behind it. Her Harry snapped out of his nightmare and was confronted with a much more frightening one involving the largest man in the house, reaching for his neck. Rosamum put her face in her hands and wept as her Other Home son was ruined.
The abuse seemed to last for hours until that piggish man left, spitting on the bruised, beaten, and bloody body of her Harry as he stomped out as quickly as he had come.
Rosamum crawled to her boy and wished she could comfort him for she knew he needed warmth, love and protection. It killed her to see these wretches fail where she could so certainly succeed. Harry could be her own baby, she'd feed him and love him and pay him all the attention he could ever want. She'd be her Raistlin replacement in the winter and her third son the rest of the year.
Those thought rang in her heart so clearly and sincerely that she didn't notice how solid her Other Home boy's shoulder had become under hand, or that she had begun to float away, Harry along with her. The owl to soared beside them as Rosamum found herself floating over Solace once more.
She could distantly here The Widow Judith's cries and just barely felt the hand that was shaking her so fiercely. The window, she realized, was now blackened by the setting of the sun, but even so, the moons glowed over head. She stared at them with wonder, not at all interested her own husband's pleading her to return to him. It was only the movement of what was in her hand that drew her attention away.
Her damaged Other Home son was in her arms, hot and alive, his skin rising and falling as his breaths came out unevenly. Rosamum smiled warmly and pet his black hair. So soft, so dark, not quite curly but with plenty of wave.
He looked so very much like Gregor.