Author's Notes: Thank you Talamasca for the review. I do hope you won't be disappointed.

Chapter Three:
The Library

"Tom taught you to write calligraphy?" Albus cuts in once more.

"Yes sir," I tell him, annoyed at the interruption. The least he can do is to let me tell it straight through after convincing me to divulge anything at all.

He folds his hands in his lap, though his long, silver beard covers most of them. "Please, Ms. Riddle, continue."

Even after Tom had politely excused himself hours ago, I stayed in the library, surrounded by my dusty, steadfast companions. I used to imagine that they spoke to me, though in a way they did, but kept repeating themselves each time.

I itched my nose with the dry end of my quill, pontificating what I was to write next in my essay, which still came a half inch short. It did not help that my handwriting was rather small and messy, not at all loose and free flowing like Tom's.

Tom.

I found myself comparing the things I and others accomplished to how he would have done them, and it always ended with his way being far more superior. I struggled not to let my mind wander in his direction, but I might have had more luck at trying to suddenly wake up one morning and discover that I that I had been transformed into a doxie. It was utterly impossible.

And once again, as I sat comfortably in the library, a thick book at hand, I was attempting to push his image out of mind. I could not help but not forget the way his arm had come around mine to aid me in the drawing of the letter. The thought of his touch had sent pleasant shivers up my spine.

But finally, my mind was left in peace—or could it have been pieces? I did not know which.

Opening the book I had resting on my lap—having decided to take a respite from writing—and carefully turning the crinkling pages, I found where I had previously stopped reading, immediately reabsorbed in the world it created for me.

It was well past nine that night when I finished, the library deserted. No one had noticed me reading in the dark corner, it seemed, or they had just left me alone out of cruelty. But that meant the library was closed, and so, judging by the absence of any human being—witch, wizard, or squib alike—the door was locked.

I clenched my teeth angrily, once again cursing my ill-fated luck.

I trudged to the door just to turn the knob and prove that I had at least tried, and, as I expected, it rattled loudly in one place. When I searched frantically in the pockets of my robes, I also discovered that I had left my wand in the dormitory. I still could not understand how I had forgotten the fundamental necessities of survival: first my shoes, and then my wand. I knew I would have to wait for the House Elves to come to light the fires in the morning, and then I could make my escape.

While contemplating my dilemma, I noticed a thin, spidery crack at the front of one of the more ancient bookshelves. It was barely visible to me, and so had probably gone unnoticed for years. But it sparked my curiosity for some reason, and so I knelt beside it and scratched at the line with my fingernail.

Suddenly, I felt the ground shake beneath me, and I gasped as the crack widened to reveal a slim hole just large enough for me to slip my hand into. I closed my fingers around the first objects I touched, wincing as I felt something scuttle across my skin.

There was dampness from the hole that brought a musty smell into the room, which was hard to ignore.

When I withdrew my hand, I discovered that I held two things: one was a small book, perhaps a diary, its blank pages stained and ruined by water. The other took me a moment of pondering to identify.

It was an ancient wand, badly preserved by time. And the most peculiar thing it was, too! The wood—redwood, no doubt—had begun to rot, revealing an equally odd core, which looked to be a combination of a dragon heartstring, phoenix feather, a hair carefully plucked from the tail of a unicorn, and another thing I did not recognize.

The last, I later discovered, was another hair, only it had belonged to the wand's former owner, who had long since passed on.

As I carefully turned the second discovery in my hand, observing it intently, I realized there was a name burned into the bottom, though it was barely legible after sitting in such a dark, dank place for so long.

The initials I could easily make out: S.S., but the letters following them were more difficult. The similarity between what they must have once been, and how Tom wrote was uncanny.

When I squinted a bit, I found that the first name—or word—had seven letters, while the second had either nine or ten, I could not yet tell. The wood felt soft when I pressed against it, which was not at all on my side as I attempted to decipher the name.

It was frustrating work, but I had until morning, and I was determined to unlock the wand's secrets. It did, however, seem to pulse a strange, ominous aura that I was incredibly wary of the entire time I spent staring at it.

Each minute slowly dragged by as the clock hung somewhere in the library ticked mercilessly, deafening in the deserted silence that pressed against me. It was so unbearable that once, I had to gently set the wand down and grab a book at random from the shelf, which soon proved interesting, though for better or for worse I could not say.

Truly, I had not expected the surprise that was in store for me.

I quickly grew bored with the book and brought myself the flip through it, absently at most. It was in those absent moments that I would unintentionally manage to do something stupid, making my lack of attention visibly known to myself.

My finger stung icily as I sliced it on a particularly cutting edge of one page, a drop of crimson blood appearing at the cut. I yelped at the sight of it as I was rather squeamish around that sort of thing, so it was with helplessness that I watched it fall, twisting as it went, and splashing onto the surface of the wand.

I cried out in dismay, sure that I had ruined my precious artifact, which I saw that the blood had instantaneously been absorbed into the wood, revealing the missing letters.

Salazar Slytherin.

I, Danielle Parmellie, was holding Salazar Slytherin's wand in my own hands.