Chapter Eleven:
I Am Lady Teilleen Bellezareph

I wake the next morning to the bitter cold that has greeted me each day since He left. My body feels heavy and it is all that I can do to keep from sinking slowly back into my bed, never to be seen again by anyone in this world. If only I can. But I have not yet completed my tale, so here I must remain.

I hear a sharp knock upon my door, the sound echoing until it reaches my bedchamber. I hurry to pull on a decent robe; one that has not been defeated by time. Ironically, it was once the hue of Slytherin green.

"Albus!" I exclaim upon turning the brass door nob and finding Dumbledore standing patiently on the other side of the screen. I fumble in my haste to show him inside. Once he has been seated comfortably, I put a kettle on the stove top to boil water for tea. We both enjoy the simplicity of muggle ways at appropriate times, and this particular visit seems to be one of them.

"I mean not to sound rude, Albus," I say, handing him a steaming cup. He holds it poised in his gnarled hands with an eyebrow raised–a sign for me to continue. "For I did tell you yesterday that I would come to the Ministry..."

He takes a sip of his tea. "I did not wish to burden you any further, Ms. Riddle, so it seemed necessary for us to meet at the location which would be best for you."

"I thank you for your concern," I reply, then add, "But you know, you may call me Danielle... After all, it has been years since I last set foot on the Hogwarts grounds."

"Some things are obliged never to change," he states simply.

I nod respectfully and bring my cup to my lips. I blow upon and ripple the surface, disturbing the steeping herbs that have settled at the bottom. And I begin again.

-

With my newfound tool, the key, I was able to access the Chamber of Secrets whenever I pleased. Tom was not always there, of course–he had his own agenda–but it mattered not to me. For I would always have the Basilisk to keep me company, though an odd company it was. I sometimes wondered if Tom ever grew jealous of the bond that had formed between the great serpent and I, but I doubted it highly. He was not the type to obsess over something such as that. Besides, It was as friendly to him–if not more–as it was to me.

Once, we remained in the Chamber for an entire night, the three of us. The locket served me well for that, as it allowed me to converse with the Basilisk.

"Danielle," it hissed quietly, startling me. I had been concentrating on a transfiguration essay. (There seemed to be an endless supply of them as of late.)

I was careful not to look up when I replied. "Yes?"

Tom, however, seemed to be immune to its gaze, as he could stare it straight in the eye, which was what he happened to be doing at the moment. It was a rare occasion for the snake to speak, and even more so directly to anyone individually.

"You are troubled, no? I sssensssse great sssorrow."

"What do you mean?" I asked, taken-aback.

"You are ressssstlessss, little one. What issss it that plaguesss you sssso?"

"You must be mistaken, begging your pardon, I am perfectly alright," I lied, trying to sound convincing. I did not think that either of them believed me, though they kept silent. But what was it that troubled me?

Tom Riddle, above other things.

He had been distant; so distant that I sometimes wondered if he suddenly left his body at spontaneous periods of time. I learned that he had created a name for himself only days before from the Basilisk, as well. Tom had not been present when It had informed me of his recent development, but his presence was not needed to the news to affect me as it did. I wondered afterward if I had overreacted, and perhaps I had. To me, at the time, it had only been a meaningless name, something that would be forgotten eventually. But still, in itself, 'Lord Voldemort' was a sinister title. Or rather, 'I am Lord Voldemort,' as he put it.

I inspected it, and found it to be a puzzle, almost. He had rearranged the letters in his own name, Tom Marvolo Riddle, to become the simple phrase that it was. A phrase that would one day cause wizards and non-wizards alike to cower in terror. But what was I to know of that?

It was a fine idea, however, in my opinion. I had even tested it myself, only the results were less satisfactory than his. The only thing I had managed to produce that was even halfway decent was 'I am Lady Teillen Bellezareph' from my 'Danielle Elyzabeth Parmellie,' and even that sounded odd and illogical. It did not roll off of one's tongue flawlessly. And I did mention it to Tom once. He had only laughed.

"A fair attempt," he had said, his eyes glimmering amiably. He had been in a peculiarly cheerful disposition that day.

"Well," I had begun huffily, resting my palms upon my slender hips. I had pretended to be hurt–emotionally, not physically.

He snickered, and I scrunched up my nose, giggling. "I suppose it is rather 'interesting'" I admitted.

"Most definitely unique," he shrugged, and I pushed at his arm playfully.

"Oh, do stop, Tom, your endless compliments are making me blush!" I rolled my eyes sarcastically. There was a bit of truth in that, though, for I was somewhat flustered. For what reason, I did not know. I had felt not in the least bit embarrassed, nor ill, nor... nor...

Did I dare to even think such things anymore? I was not at all romantic in any way. As far as I could tell, Tom was the same. So why did my cheeks flush such a color when he was near, or when I even spoke to him? Such things were bothersome and a constant disability, as it seemed unavoidable that he would notice.

"Perhaps you should see to it that you make a trip to the Hospital Wing, Danielle, your face has been awfully crimson as of late," he commented lightly, but there was a concerned tone to his nonchalance.

"Oh, er, has it really?" I sputtered stupidly, my blush darkening. He looked at me quizzically and brought the back of his hand up to touch my forehead as though testing for a fever.

"You are a peculiar witch, Danielle," he sighed, shaking his head.

"How is that? And you are not so ordinary yourself," I said defensively.

He smirked. "Perhaps, but I have got an excuse..."

He frowned as a rather large boy came careening past us down the corridor as though a Lethifold were at his heels. He almost lost his balance, nearly toppling over into Tom. "Watch it, Hagrid," he snarled.

"Er, sorry 'bout that, Riddle," the boy replied gruffly before hastening away.

That was to be the fateful day in which we heard the screams.

"An attack! There's been a horrid accident!"

And so it was to begin.