Hierarchy of Need [t.r]

Chapter Twenty Four

He closed the door and watched her for a moment, analyzing the situation in front of him. Her fingers were wound tightly in her hair and she paced back and forth, sitting down for a moment before shooting back up. She couldn't keep still.

"Delilah, I need you to-"

Shaking her head violently, Delilah pointed a finger at him. "Don't. Don't say that to me. I," her mouth felt painfully dry as her throat closed up, making it hard for her to speak. Taking a deep breath through her nose, the air burned and felt as if it'd make her bleed. She had every right to be freaking out.

Hunching herself over a desk, her fingers curling around the wooden edges painfully, she tried to steady her breathing. "Sir, he- he's- I can't be here. Not with him." She sniffed, stood up straight and righted her features before turning to look at Dumbledore.

Curious how good she was at doing that, acting like she was suddenly okay. Most would expect some tears in such a state, but her eyes weren't even glossy.

Coming to think of it, he's never seen her cry.

He was still by the door, his glasses were pushed down to the tip of his nose as he watched her with a frown on his lips. "Not with who?" he finally asked, walking over to his desk and summoning a chair and some tea, pouring a steaming cup before offering it to her.

Letting the warmth through the china seep into her palms, Delilah kept telling herself she'd calmed down. But her legs were still shaking and her skin itched. How the hell was she supposed to tell him without giving anything away?

It took her a moment to work up the courage to even say his name, she didn't want to think about what she just discovered.

Did this mean all of her friends were first generation death eaters? Who'd all see her dead if they knew who she was? Who'd see her friends and family dead?

Raising the steaming cup to her lips, she inhaled the hot air and closed her eyes. "Riddle, I can't be here with him. No one should, he," Delilah had to force her mouth shut as she mulled over what words to choose.

Dumbledore sat there patiently, giving her as much time as she needed. He already had questions surrounding Tom's character, but with Delilah now bringing him up, he wondered if his suspicions were right.

Setting the cup down with trembling hands, Delilah then had to sit on top of them to keep them from moving. "He's, how do I even put this. What he becomes... millions will be considered collateral damage."

"We can't change the future by meddling with the past Miss Meddows-"

"Just me being here is meddling with the past."

"Yes, however-"

"Sir, he's the one who killed me."

His whole body went stiff the moment the words left her mouth. Flashes of her memory he viewed resurfaced, of the creature he saw standing over her in the Ministry, pale and ghastly, eyes gleaming red and slits for nostrils.

An ache so profound settled deep within him, making his whole body feel numb with sorrow. Is that really what Tom becomes? Will he become so enveloped by the allure of the dark, that it leads him so far astray?

Dumbledore thought back to the eighteen year old currently in his transfigurations class. He was just a child, no matter how mature he acted. And he was brilliant, his eyes filled with ambition to be better and to learn and absorb more knowledge than most would ever dream of.

And he was going to torture and kill the girl currently sitting in front of him. That threw Dumbledore off slightly, he's seen the way Tom acted around her, how he looked at her. It wasn't that Delilah had seemed to change him, no, Dumbledore didn't think anyone could change Tom.