Hierarchy of Need [t.r]

Chapter Twenty Five

And in that moment it didn't even matter that Tom was going to be the one to kill her.

She didn't matter. She never did.

It was always Harry, always. Even if Voldemort did recognize her, his endgame was always Harry, Delilah merely got in the way.

She didn't matter. Not to Voldemort, and clearly not to Tom.

And that revelation seemed to numb her to the crushing weight of who he would become. Who he might already be.

She didn't count. She was just another face in his list of soon to be kills. So why did any of this matter? She was nothing to him, and Delilah was going to have to be okay with that if she wanted to go home. She needed him for the Ministry break in. Dumbledore even said so.

If he did recognize her, that did mean she somehow left this time. That meant she left him. And that gave Delilah her final shove.

"I," she began slowly. She really didn't want to say it, but she'd have to, if she did he'd be too arrogant to refuse. Tom was her insurance home. Back to her old self. "I need your help."

He raised a brow and looked down at her, distracted for only a millisecond by the smudge of ink on her left cheek. "Breaking into the Ministry? I thought this was already settled. We'll leave for France after graduation, and work out the kinks with Eques' brother."

"Yeah, but I thought," Delilah finally looked at him. She was momentarily caught up in the circles under his eyes before she saw the glimmer of confusion. Had he not been sleeping? He's never looked so exhausted. And why was he confused? He was Voldemort. She would think that nearly choking him to death and tossing him about like a rag doll would make him a bit unwilling to aid her.

"Thought what?" His voice cut into her thoughts and she blinked.

"Why are you still willing to help me?" Currently, she didn't trust Tom further than a Giant could throw him.

His confusion only seemed to deepen, and the longer she looked at him, the more prominent the purple under his eyes became.

Tom should be asking her that question.

Why would she of all people want his help? He betrayed her trust, her privacy, their friendship. If they even ever had one. Tom wasn't sure. He never really considered himself to have friends. But he supposed Delilah had fallen into the category of someone he could actually rely on.

That was new for him.

But after what he did? He didn't think she'd ever want to see him again. But low and behold, there she was. Standing right in front of him. Smelling of peppermint, petrichor, and almost what could be resembled as a sea in a storm.

After everything he did, Delilah was still there, here, right in front of him.

She never did stop surprising him.

He couldn't help but be confused with himself, which was foreign territory. Did he really want her there?

Why was he willing to help? Why did he want to? He never helped unless it got him something. Was it as an apology? No, that would be ridiculous. Part of himself was just glad to have her back. Have her around him.

He wouldn't admit it, but refusing her wasn't even a thought that had occurred to mind.

A glimmer of silver caught his eye and Tom nearly grimaced at the sight of Elio's necklace. Delilah caught him staring at it and she dropped her hand, halting her movements and shoving her hands in her pockets.