Hierarchy of Need [t.r]

Chapter Twenty Five

Neither of them spoke for a moment, Delilah was struggling to find her words and Tom was surprised she was even standing in front of him. He also had the irrational worry that if he so much as blinked, she'd disappear.

Biting her cheek, Delilah wished she could be anywhere but the library. Why wouldn't Dumbledore do this himself? But alas, she knew he couldn't. Tom wouldn't listen to him. "We need to talk."

Looking her over for a brief moment, he nodded and stood up, and Delilah took an instant step back. Tom tried to ignore the odd shift he felt at her action and began to walk down an isle, gesturing for her to follow.

They stopped in a far off corner of the library, before Tom could open his mouth Delilah started, she didn't know how long she could be around him. "Alek's brother can get us in, I'll go over the plan later when we round everyone up. But he needs a date and time. When will we be back from France?" Her words rush out as she picked up a book and flipped through it aimlessly, she couldn't look at him. Not up close.

Tom simply stared at her, both in disbelief and curiosity. She was acting like nothing happened. Well, not completely. Delilah was looking anywhere but at him and she felt stiff, like a glass bubble was around her and she was afraid a sudden movement would shatter it.

"Why?"

Delilah picked up another book, "what?"

"Why?"

"Why what?"

He plucked the book out of her hand and shoved it half heartedly on a shelf. "Why are you so..." He didn't know how to put it, which was strange for him. He usually always knew what to say. But when it came to Delilah he seemed to have a loss for words. "You're still coming along? After everything that happened?"

She bit her cheek and nodded while humming a yes. Tom narrowed his eyes, what was wrong with her? "So you're fine?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

"Delilah."

Why now of all times, did he finally start calling her by her name?

Running her fingers lightly over the titles, she dropped her arm and let out a breath. "Personally, I want to punch the living shit out of you and never look at your stupid face again. But the more rational side of my-"

"You have a rational side? I wasn't aware."

"Shut up."

His lips titled slightly and she hated how easily they fell back into each other.

It shouldn't be this easy.

And in that moment she hated herself. She hated that small part in her chest that missed this. This... this thing that was between them. And she shouldn't.

He should be the last person on earth she should ever miss talking to.

But she did miss it and she hated herself for it. Throughout the past few days Delilah found herself missing the smell of cigarettes, how his hair fell just above his eyes, and his quick wit.

She hated herself so much to the point where it nearly burned because the boy standing in front of her was going to be responsible for so many deaths.

He was the reason Harry didn't have parents.

What would Harry even think if he saw her now? If he saw what she's been doing in this time, mucking about with the creature who wanted him dead. Would Harry even recognize her? Coming to think of it Delilah didn't even recognize herself.

Ever since she's been in the 1940s it's like she became a completely different person. One she wasn't even sure she liked.

But as her eyes glanced over to the other shelf, his form a blur as she did so, she had to accept that Tom didn't even know who Harry was. He wouldn't for many years to come. How can she hold him accountable for something that hasn't even happened?