This is where the writing begins to pick up, I think. The latter half of this chapter is one of my favorite scenes.

Chapter Ten:
The Basilisk

"Have I frightened you, Danielle?" he asked quietly, still not facing me.

I nodded, unable to speak for fear that a despairing gasp would escape from my opened mouth. My head was tilted forward enough so that my hair hung stringily to shroud my face. All that Tom would have been able to see were the bottoms of my lips and chin. My hands rested on my thighs, kneading at my robe like a pensive cat. The hem was tattered from my journey through the pipe, as well as dripped heinously with slime. My body gave an involuntary shudder.

"What has happened to you?" I managed quietly to say. "This place has consumed you."

"Perhaps it has," he replied defensively, "but that is not for you to judge, nor for me to question. I can do nothing about who I am."

"Yes you can. You can leave this evil place."

"It is not that simple!" he cried, bringing his fist forcefully upon the stone.

We heard next a loud, resonating 'crack' as a thin line began to appear where Tom had released his anger. It grew larger, and Tom went rigid. "Do not look up, Danielle, whatever you do! It is coming." His voice had gone dry, his entire attitude changing.

A curious reflex caused me to pry my gaze from the ground, and I screamed. An enormous snake had begun to slither through the crack that had soon widened to a crevice. "DO NOT LOOK UP!" he bellowed. I instantaneously averted my eyes and covered them with my hands. I knew what it was.

I heard the great basilisk drag its body toward me along the gravelly stones. The chamber quaked in its might. I could feel its deadly eyes boring into the back of my head; it sniffed for me win the air with quick flicks and darts of its tongue. I trembled and removed my hands from my eyes, (though I kept them shut and swore to do so until the monster had left). I squeezed my arms and crossed them over my chest as a barrier to protect myself.

It curled its tail around my legs and teased at my face with its tongue. I sensed its giant head mere centimeters from my own; its hot breath swirling from its nostrils and pushing the hair from my eyes. I felt its scaly flesh brush over my fingers as it circled around my frail body, undoubtedly regarding me with distrust and curiosity.

"It is alright, Danielle," Tom cooed, "It will not harm you, so long as you do not look into Its eyes. I will not let It."

After a few more terrifying minutes, I was released from the Basilisk's grasp. I inched further from it before I heard a dull rumble pulsating from its throat. And then I realized...

...it was purring.

One of the most vicious killers known to the wizarding world was gently nuzzling my neck.

I hesitantly lifted my hand to stroke its nose, incredulous at what I or It was doing. I could only imagine Tom's shocked look, for I dared not to confirm it in fear that the creature would accidentally strike me dead. Tom swore softly, and I grinned in spite of myself. There was an odd, exhilarating thrill at the danger that the Basilisk could have me crushed or otherwise killed in the literal blink of an eye.

From that moment on, I had acquired a total of two friends: Tom and the Basilisk.

-

"Interesting..." Dumbledore murmurs, thoughtfully stroking his beard. I twist my thumbs around each other in a silent, nervous war.

I stretch my mouth into a yawn.

"I think it best if we resume tomorrow, you must be exhausted, Ms. Riddle."

"Thank you, Albus," I sigh gratefully. "I shall be at the Ministry by eight o'clock, then?"

He nods. "If that is what you wish."

Albus accompanies me to the front desk, though I continue on my own to the newly-finished fountain. They have recently rebuilt it after its destruction at Tom's return to power. Now, it is even more spectacular than it had been before. Not a fleck of dust marrs its golden surface.

I dip my fingers into the crystal clear water, cupping a handful in my palm before I let it trickle slowly away. I linger near the proud centaur and touch its gracefully arching tail; it has seemingly been frozen in mid-'swish'.

I fumble in my robes in search for my wand. The welcome witch eyes me suspiciously, leaning over a heaping mound of scattered papers. I exhale heavily and Apparate.

The manor is disorderly and dusty, as I have let its care slip from my grasp over the years. Cobwebs line my shelves where there had once been paper. I point my wand at where I know the fireplace to be, shooting flames into the soot-filled hole and bringing feeble light to the entryway. I doubt that anyone realizes that I still reside in this desolate place, even Tom, who had known it as his home as I do.

I drape my overcoat across the molding back of my favorite yet threadbare armchair. In its prime, it had been overstuffed and upholstered with costly maroon velvet, standing proud near the limestone fireplace. The arms were intricately carved in mahogany. But now, they are but solemn reminders of the life I once had. We once had.

I settle onto the worn cushion and imagine, as I gaze into the dancing flames, that He is seated across from me, pensively reading a leather-bound novel. Instead, all that I see is bleak rubble, darkness, and wraiths of despair, haunting me as I remember... and have remembered...

I lift myself from the chair, supporting myself by gasping the cracked arms.

The box is hidden where I last left it years ago. I push aside the tattered draperies and withdraw it from its secret place behind them and the painting. He had made it to match the locket, so that is what I keep inside of its careful hold. I trail my fingers along the inside rim of the lid until I find the minute difference in textures. He had hidden it cleverly, as well, making it flush with the surrounding, ornate surface.

I pry loose the cover of yet another secret compartment. Only it is shallow and protected by a thin layer of cracked glass. When I brush away the dust, I am hailed jubilantly by a faded photograph. (It had lain unbeknownst to me for years before I finally discovered it.) There are two people framed by the box. Two incredibly happy and young people; a witch and a wizard, both beaming joyously at the occasion.

I trace the outline of the man, though he seems not to notice. And as I do, it triggers the music.

I feel a horrible pain in my heart, and I close my eyes, listening to the woeful tune the music box plays for me, never to forget.

Tom and Danielle Riddle "'til death do us part." is what has been inscribed below our wedding photograph.