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  Delilah woke up twenty minutes later, her head pounding and feeling heavier than lead. Groaning as she rolled to the side, soft velvet was underneath her and she let her body weight fall into it. She hadn't felt something this gentle against her skin in what must've been ages.

Nuzzling herself further and letting her muscles relax, a breath barely passed her lips before she shot up. Wand drawn and eyes darting frantically across the room, forgetting where she was for a moment before Dumbledore smiled at her.

Sadly this didn't appear to be some fucked up dream.

The need to cry was strong, but her body refused her. Deep in her subconscious she knew how much she despised it.

Some might consider crying a friend, a way to vent and just let everything go. Delilah however had always felt disgusted afterward. It always felt like an over reaction. Nose running, swollen eyes and raw throat -feeling weak was something she'd like to avoid.

Taking a breath as he made his way over, Dumbledore held a teacup with steam billowing out of the top. The smell of lemongrass and ginger dancing it's way towards her.

"Thank you," her voice was quiet as she carefully took the drink. She couldn't manage to even take a sip, though. Still feeling as if she might puke at any given moment. Nots wound tightly in her stomach to the point it nearly hurt, and before the pain could settle in they'd loosen and she felt woozy.

Something felt... wrong.

"When-" there was a pause, her mind trying to rationalize the situation. "When am I?"

He leaned back in his chair, observing her quietly. The silence felt deafening as she shifted in her seat, the porcelain burning her hands in a way that almost felt comforting and she wanted to scream at him to just say something.

It felt as if he was pealing back every layer, cutting open her skin and trespassing in every place he wasn't welcome.

Shifting her eyes to the corner of his office her breath hitched. Dumbledore followed her gaze and a smile graced his lips, "I take it you know of phoenixes?"

Delilah felt like she should say yes, there was a deep gut feeling she did. There was something. But as she tried to focus there was nothing but fog clouding her mind.

"Not really."

She took note of how he hadn't answered her yet. Perhaps he was prolonging, in hopes she wouldn't faint again. Or blow up, who knows. It was a gamble even to herself.

"Today is the third of September, 1943." He said slowly, knowing she probably wouldn't believe what she was hearing.

Her muscles tensed and the grip she had on the cup made her knuckles grow white, for a moment she thought it might break. For a moment she wanted it to. Maybe the shards of porcelain would cut so deep in her hand it would wake her up.

"1943?" She blinked at Dumbledore, confusion etched into her features. "How-"

He shook his head, "I know nothing of how you got here. If you could enlighten me? Recall whatever you can."

"Well I..." setting down the cup next to her due to her hands shaking, she tried desperately to claw at any information in her head. It was terrifying. Not knowing who she was, not really. It was as if someone had just thrown her to Earth with some lines of a poorly written play stuck in her head and that was it.

A headache was starting to crawl up the back of her neck, feeling like black tar sticking to her brain and her brows furrowed at the pain.

"I can't remember anything."

He hummed, pulling gently at the tuffs of his beard. "Do you remember what year?"

"1998," she said easily, the information slipping off her tongue without thought which surprised and eased her only briefly.

"Well it's good to know some basic recollection is possible, though I wonder if this is a serious cause of obliviation."

Her heart sunk at the possibility. Who would do such a thing?

"You've somehow managed to jump back fifty five years," his tone held more curiosity rather than empathy. Delilah was quickly realizing she didn't like the man very much. He didn't sit right with her. He was giving her nothing but an echo of sympathy. Then again, she wasn't searching for pity either.

"Did you have anything on your person? For such a time jump one could assume a time-turner."

Shaking her head, she patted down her pockets nonetheless. There was nothing. From what she could recall there wasn't anything near her at the lake, either.

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen," she said dimly, not seeing why that was relevant.

However the older wizard's mind was raging with numerous theories, though none were concrete. The most simple one being she was obliviated and sent here, though there was no explanation for the apparent lack of a time traveling device.

Dumbledore stood up abruptly and she blinked at him. "If we're to figure this out there'll be need for a bit of time to dwell before sending you on your merry way back."

Standing up warily she wrapped her arms around herself, "why can't I just use a time-turner now and go?" There was a strange sense of vulnerability wrapped around her, like someone had thrown a wool blanket over her shoulders but it was heavy and damp. Making her feel uncomfortable and her bones itched.

"I don't think that would be the safest option, especially considering you have clear memory loss. I wouldn't feel comfortable sending you back with a still empty slate. In the mean time we have one option."

Wanting to argue, she bit her tongue. Part of her knew waiting till whatever happened to her got fixed was the smartest route. Though she wondered why she couldn't try to to the same in her own time. Surely her memory might come back faster if she was in a more familiar environment.

"Which is?" she asked.

He beamed, "we need to get you enrolled. A limited environment would be best and frequent meetings can be held as well as treatment. Obliviation is very hard to reverse, especially if it was well casted. But there is no other hope but to try."

She gaped at him, "enroll? Here?" He must be mental. Why couldn't she just stay somewhere and not be distracted by anything? Being forced to attend school hardly seemed like the best idea. How would she have any time to get her mind in order if homework was simultaneously being shoved down her throat.

"Oh, yes of course!" He exclaimed, hitting himself lightly on the forehead. "I couldn't very well just walk into Dippet's office and say we have a new student. We need to form a new identity for you." His tone was light, Delilah couldn't help but stare at him incredulously. He was mad.

"We'll need to get you sorted, of course."

A vague memory of a hat sprung to mind. She could only hope more things along the way would trigger some remembrance.

Making his way to his floor to ceiling bookcase, he flicked through some ancient looking novels. "For starters, a background. It doesn't have to be too complex, just a basis."

Delilah felt like she'd swallowed gravel. This was insane. Bloody insane.

"We could say you're German, though with the current heat of things that's probably not best," he muttered, flicking through pages. "Or American, how's your American accent?"

Her words stumbled over themselves as she tried to reply and he shook his head, "no, dreadful. Never mind."

A title of a book caught her attention and it was as if another door had been unlocked. "I can speak French." Hopefully fluently or else this would surely be a disaster. Part of her hoped this would be a quick process, that more doors would open on a whim in no need for a key.

Optimism felt foolish, however.

Dumbledore snapped the book shut and she flinched. "Excellent! We can say you went to Beauxbatons, transferring here due to the war effort. Oh, let's see... Pontmercy seems rather fitting, doesn't it?"

"I mean I suppose," not like she had much choice in the matter.

Starting for the door, he threw it open and she cautiously followed after him. "Where are we going?"

Some students in the halls eyed her curiously. Picking apart her outfit and she'd only just noted the clothes she was wearing. Fancy black robes and red trainers. Vastly different from any forties wardrobe.

"We'll get you sorted in Dippet's office, should be quick. Perhaps the Hat can give you a bit more insight. It has a knack for that sort of thing."

Reaching the Headmaster's office, a large bronze statue of what looked almost like a griffin stood guard. "Ministry," Dumbledore muttered the password and shortly after the statue arose to reveal a spiraling set of stairs.

Her stomach dropped, a looming sense of foreboding hanging at her heels as they began to ascend the steps.

Something was definitely wrong.