Hierarchy of Need [t.r]

Chapter Nineteen

"When's your birthday?" Lolita asked, a curious glint in her eye. Delilah bit her lip and looked out the dingy window, "November seventh." There was a slight slap on her knee and she laughed at the annoyed look on Lolita's face. "It was last month? And you didn't tell me?" Delilah shrugged sheepishly.

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Tom felt his ears prick up at the sound of a knock on his door. He glared at the unevenly cut wood before looking down at his opened diary, notes about the Deathly Hallows littering the pages.

Pushing away from the desk, the chair scratched against the wooden floors and he walked to the door. After opening it, he had the strong urge to slam it shut. There was nothing good about the way Delilah was smiling up at him. She looked like she knew something she shouldn't, and it annoyed him.

"May I help you?" There was a draft coming in from an opened window in the hall, making peppermint waft towards him in an incessant wave.

He waved his hand in slight aggravation, causing the window to fall shut. Who kept a window open in the middle of winter, anyway?

Peppermint still lingered, but not as strongly as before.

"How come you didn't tell me it's your birthday?"

That urge to slam the door rose again, and this time he didn't hold back. He went to shut the door, but Delilah pushed it open before it could fully close, wedging her body in the doorway. "Oh come on, how old are you now, seventeen? Eighteen? Bet I'm older than you."

Delilah was eighteen, but technically Tom was about sixty years older than her. She didn't like that thought, so she shoved it away as harshly as possible. No, she assured herself as she looked at the boy in front of her with curly dark hair. He was young, he was her age.

But she couldn't help but wonder what Tom Riddle was doing back in her time as an old man. For some reason a museum curator popped into her mind but she shook her head. Delilah may hate him, but she wouldn't let her thoughts rob him of his youth.

"Eighteen," he ground out after trying to shove her out the door. He gave up when he realized she'd probably just stand outside his door like a kicked puppy until he let her in. Tom opened the door but didn't let her enter any further into the room.

Delilah crossed her arms at this but decided not to push the matter. "Let's go do something." Tom raised an eyebrow at her. Delilah wanted to willingly spend time with him for his birthday? Didn't she have New Years plans to get drunk beyond wits with her little friends? That's what the boys were doing.

"No thank you, I'm busy." He gestured to the desk and she peered over his shoulder on raised toes. Delilah scoffed, "What? Writing in your diary?" He nodded and watched in amusement as she let out a huff. "That can wait, the diary isn't going anywhere." She stepped back and gestured for him to follow.

But when he didn't move an inch, she ground her teeth and glared up at him. "Don't you dare make me say it." He blinked at her, a fake curtain of innocence hanging over his dark eyes. "Say what?"

"You know damn well what."

He tilted his head, appearing genuinely confused and her own eyes burned holes through his chest.

"Will you come with me...please," she looked miserable. That tick he felt in his cheek came back, his muscles urging him to smile. But he shoved it away. "Fine, since you asked so nicely and you're clearly desperate." He grabbed his coat off the hook and shut the door behind him. Delilah opened her mouth to yell at him, to defend she was definitely not desperate, but shut it since there was no use.