A week had passed, and Madame Fontaine refused to let Delilah leave the infirmary, except for the bathroom.

  "Save your strength."

  If she heard that one more time, Delilah considered throwing herself out the window. She felt fine, just tired.

  Lolita came to visit often, usually after lunch to complain about how insufferable Olive was being. And of course her tales of some secret lover. The meetings were nice, Lolita had even painted Delilah's nails a nice shade of red and would brush her hair while singing lightly. She had a beautiful voice that made Delilah envious, every time she tried to sing it sounded like she just suffered from a coughing fit. "Why aren't you in frog choir?" She'd ask, only resorting in Lolita snorting. "And hold those nasty things? Never."

  Elio came by every afternoon, bringing her snacks from the kitchen, homework to work on, books she wanted from the library, and pepper imps with sugar quills. "Elio you're a gem." She sighed as she nibbled on her treats. He smiled brightly, a slight fluster in his cheeks that seemed to be permanent.

  When he first found out Delilah had fallen ill, he nearly broke his nose as he ran out of the common room, due to tripping over the leg Cain stuck out. He remembered Tom walking in, composed as ever. His cool gaze fell on Elio, who was nervous he'd done something to anger Tom. "Your girlfriend is in the infirmary." He said flatly, walking off before Elio could ask questions.

  Delilah smiled at the memory of him stumbling through the infirmary doors, disheveled hair and panting. "Merlin, you alright love?" He asked her, stalking over to her bed despite the healer's protests. "I'm doing beautifully, can't you tell?" Delilah had just woken up from a long nap and felt renewed. 

  But Madame Fontaine persisted she stay for longer.

  Her favorite visits however were when the boys would come by all together. They'd crowd around her bed, sprawled out on chairs or even nearby beds. They'd rant about a number of things, Quidditch, Slughorn's favoritism, and classes. Delilah even got Abraxas to finally try a pepper imp. He made a disgusted face, but she didn't miss him sneak another candy into his robes before he left.

  "Fuck, finally." Delilah sighed as she left the infirmary. The halls were empty, most people were in the Great Hall for lunch. Resisting the urge to skip, Delilah settled for a few spins and as she turned a corner, and she ran right into someone. "Shit." 

  As she stumbled back, her elbow hit the wall and she hissed.

  "Language, Pontmercy."

  She sighed, her eyes flickering to the form in front of her. "Must you be everywhere I am when I get clumsy? It's growing to be embarrassing."

  Tom looked her over, a week's worth of rest seemed to do the trick to returning her health. Her skin was more flush with warm pink, and her royal blue eyes were back to their alertness. Though exhaustion was still evident. 

  He was tempted to reach out a hand to touch her. 

  To see if Delilah was still cold to the touch. To see if that chill ran through his body and make his mind feel numb. Blinking slowly, Tom was shocked and disgusted by his thoughts.

  "Clumsiness appears to be a part of your usual mannerism." He spoke curtly, vehemence at his own thoughts seeping into his words. Her eyes narrowed, many insults ringing in her head.

  A need to smack him rang in her chest. The sound of her hand hitting his cheek was awfully satisfying to imagine. He didn't come to visit her once. For some reason, that irked her, which only resulted in pissing her off further.

  It was stupid. There was no reason for Tom to come see her. They weren't friends, and even if they were, Tom didn't seem the type to be sentimental no matter the relationship. Still, she thought he might've had some decency. He was the one to take her to the infirmary after all. 

  "How's Olive? Did she come to her senses and realize she's too good for you?" Delilah felt her eyes widen. Did she really just say that to him?

  Tom couldn't help it, his head tilted to the side and his own eyes narrowed. A chill went up Delilah's spine at the look he was giving her. His dark brown eyes that usually looked like burnt coffee turned into an abyss of pure black. "Olive is perfectly happy. And we're not dating, so for her to come to her senses and leave me would be impossible." He kept his tone neutral. But Delilah detecting the slight bite of an undertone, warning her not to push him further. Of course she wouldn't listen.

  "That's not what I meant, and you know it. Merlin, can't you put your pride aside?"

  Now Tom simply furrowed his brows. Why was she frustrated? She wasn't the one who was just insulted. Tom nearly laughed. Olive? Too good for him? He wondered if Delilah should rest a few more days if she was spewing such nonsense. "Whatever do you mean Pontmercy, do enlighten me?" He tucked his hands into his pockets, leaning against the wall as he stared down his nose at her.

  He looked amused and Delilah wanted to punch him now. 

  "You treat her like shit, Riddle." She stated. "She genuinely likes you, Merlin knows why. You know she likes you and you exploit her feelings when they're in your benefit. But if you find her affections useless, you dismiss her as if she doesn't even exist. Is empathy a practice completely lost on you? Do you even take into account what other people feel? If you keep treating Olive like she's an object only partially necessary it will kill her. Or do you just secretly love the attention?" Her voice became lighter with her sudden realization. Completely ignoring that dark look that returned to Tom's eyes, more deadly than how it was before.

  "Oh I bet that's it." Delilah smiled, though it was cruel. "You love the attention, but you'll never admit it. If you tried, you'd choke on your pride. You walk around like you're some kind of god. Chin held high, shoulders back, dismissive gaze, handsome smirk, charming manners only when eyes are watching. But take away the eyes and what's left? Who are you when no one is around? Who are you, Tom Riddle?"

  That was a dangerous question and she knew it.

  "Because you're not a god. You're not a king or a prince. You're not an icon. You're not just a wizard. You're not just Head Boy. You're not just Slughorn's prized pupil. You're a seventeen year old boy who acts like everyone is out to get you, you play with people as if they're pieces of a chess game. All of your actions are cross checked, aren't they? You look ten steps ahead before setting a single foot forward. You're advanced in all your studies and make some of the professors look like beginners. You act kind, but you are probably one of the most cruel people I know."

  "I advise you to stop talking." His voice had dropped a few octaves, if even possible. His tone had lost that seductive rasp, it became smooth and threatening. His eyes a bottomless pit of loathing that made fear rip through her stomach. Tom looked like he wanted to kill her. 

  He looked like he would mean it.

  But he was right, she was incessantly stubborn. However, Delilah knew she was on the right track, and she couldn't stop herself now. Tom needed to hear this, he needed a strike to his ego.

  "Who are you Tom Riddle. Who are you, really?" The sentence barely left her lips before she found herself begging dragged into a nearby classroom. He shoved her into the room and kicked the door shut, not turning his back to her in case she decided to pull out her wand. But she was taken so off guard the thought hadn't occurred. Before her mind could catch up to the situation, she was being slammed into the wall.

  Delilah hissed at the stinging sensation that shot into her back at the harsh contact. Her head ached due to hitting the stone and her eyes squinted at the pain he was causing in her wrist. He had them pinned above her and his face was looming over hers. "Why do you insist on not listening to me?" Tom had dropped to speaking in a whisper, despite the fact that he cast a silencing charm on the classroom.

"Finally." Delilah breathed. This was Tom Riddle. Violent and impulsive, not standing for any blows to the perfect image he's built of himself. How did he manage to hide himself so perfectly? Tom was capable of acting like everyone else, proper and kind and humane. But he was something else entirely.

  They stared at one another. His grip had loosened on her wrist, but neither moved.

  He was taken by her. Why was she different? She saw through him like he was a ghost. And he hated it. Delilah was too clever for her own good. A girl like her easily gets hurt in the world. She asks too many questions people don't want being asked. She has answers no one wants to hear. Delilah was dangerous. And Tom was fascinated.

  "Who are you?" His voice was a soft caress on her ears, almost loving and it made her heart skip. He was too close again.

  Parchment. Burnt wood. Cigarettes.

  Then she hated him. It stung sharply deep in her chest, like someone stabbed an iron rod through her ribs and was trying to dig out her heart. It was calm and collected. Like a peaceful meadow you'd stumble upon while on a walk, the soft chirp of birds in the high lines of softly swaying trees. A storm raging in the distance, thunder rumbling the leaves in nearly invisible succession.

  Hating him would be like a game. Similar to the game he played with so many people. That's all life was to him, wasn't it? A game to be won by bringing down everyone else. Played with his pale hands,  the long fingers that held his wand so elegantly.

  "I'm an ordinary girl who isn't blinded by your facade." It was a vague answer she knew he wouldn't accept.

  "You are many things, but not ordinary." His head tilted to the side, inclining forward. Delilah fought the desperate need to inhale deeper, to lean forward and meet his lips. Drowning in his aura seemed like a seductive idea at the moment, yet repulsive all at once. Her arms were beginning to tingle due to lack of blood flow, he was still lightly holding them above her head. She could've easily slipped away from him.

  But she didn't.

  "No... no you are something else entirely." he spoke sincerely, and she didn't know what that meant. 

  At that moment Delilah realized she was monumentally screwed. She had Tom Riddle's undivided attention now, and she didn't think she could handle it. If he took any interest or curiosity in her she was screwed. Because Tom was clever, scarily so. The devil had competition when it came to deceitfulness. If he tried to find out who she really was, Delilah knew it wouldn't be impossible he found out the truth.

  Suddenly he stepped back, her arms falling limply to her sides and she felt cold. "You should head to lunch, I am sure Rosier would be glad of your release." He walked away, leaving her in a puddle of nerves. Tom stopped at the door however, his lips quirked at one side as he eyed the mess she was in, even though she was trying to hide it.

  He could still feel her pulse beating rapidly under his finger tips. He could've let go of her arms once he realized she wouldn't struggle. But Tom felt her heartbeat stutter into a frantic pace and he couldn't seem to let go of her. "See you in class, Pontmercy."

  With that, he left.

  And she hated him.

  Instead of facing her problem known as Tom Riddle, Delilah skipped class and huddled in a far corner of the library. Her breathing was shallow.

  It felt like she had just broken the surface of water after nearly drowning.

  She wanted to go home. Even though Delilah didn't know where that was anymore. It was Hogwarts, but that had been ripped away from her as well as everything else.

  Delilah missed her friends. She missed her family. And she wanted to cry, but as usual, the tears refused to make an appearance. Her fist were clenched tightly, her nails forming bloody crescents into her palms. Screaming seemed like a lovely thing to do. Her head felt light, yet heavy on her shoulders and her legs felt like strangers and Delilah practically ran outside.

  The Forbidden forest was in her sights. She stalked past the large trees, each looming in warning of the possible dangers ahead. But she didn't care. In fact, she'd welcome anything that dared to cross her.

  Once the forest became denser, Delilah pulled her lip from her teeth and tasted blood on her tongue. Why couldn't she just be dead like she was supposed to be? This wasn't some miracle second chance at life. This was hell. Her own personal hell specially crafted to make her suffer.

  A scream ripped through her lungs, the shrill sound echoing around her. It felt good. Delilah wanted to scream till her vocal chords were strained from the overexertion.

  Her wand was in her hand, Delilah didn't remember grabbing it. A memory assaulted the forefront of her mind. She was no longer seventeen and standing in a forest.

  She was eleven and staring up at Ollivander with wonder in her eyes. She'd found her wand, after trying five others. With a wave, Delilah sent a stack of papers on fire.

  "Ah, lovely!" Ollivander cheered, beaming down at her horrified face.

  "Wand-quality aspen wood is highly prized by all wand-makers for its stylish resemblance to ivory and its usually outstanding charm work." He said while bustling around the shop, he always seemed to be moving. "The proper owner of the aspen wand is often an accomplished duelist, or destined to be so, for the aspen wand is one of those particularly suited to martial magic." 

  Delilah didn't think of herself as someone who actively sought out a challenge, or find herself in such a situation. Over her shoulder, she glanced at her parents with a reluctant gaze. Her father gave her an encouraging nod, which lightened her mood. However, the displeased tug at her mother's lip made Delilah deflate.

  "An infamous and secretive eighteenth-century dueling club, which called itself The Silver Spears, was reputed to admit only those who owned aspen wands." 

  Looking down at her hands, the wand was twelve and a half inches, carved roughly but still smooth, and was bent slightly at the handle with a dragon heart-string core. The wand felt too big, yet she couldn't ignore the familiarity she already felt the longer it rested in her palm. 

  "In my experience, aspen wand owners are generally strong-minded and determined, more likely than most to be attracted by quests and new orders; this is a wand for revolutionaries."

"Reducto!" She screamed and watched as the tree exploded. Delilah fell to the floor as splinters of wood rained around her, her breathing ragged. "I want to go home." Her voice was weak and barely audible to her own ears. "Why didn't you just kill me?" She shouted to the sky, not any deity specifically in mind. "You fucking sadist! Why didn't you just kill me?"

  A thought crossed her mind then. And she froze. Utterly disgusted with herself for having such a curiosity.

  What if she cast the killing curse on herself?

  Would that even be possible? In order to successfully cast the curse, you have to mean it. And Delilah was too much of a coward for such a thing. Plus the added weight of guilt. If she were to kill herself, she'd be giving up the possibility of seeing her friends and family again. She'd be giving up hope. Taking the easy way out and not dealing with her problems head on.

  The dead aren't the ones who suffer the loss of life, it's the mourners. Though as she thought about it, there wouldn't be anyone to mourn over her. Not anymore.

  Delilah coughed and sat up, wiping the dirt from her face as she did so. "Pull your shit together, Delilah." She told herself. "This isn't the end of the world." 

  The words were repeated the whole way back to the castle. Although it sure as hell felt like the end of the world. Perhaps it was, the world she knew was gone. Or yet, it hadn't happened.

  It took all her strength not to eat in the kitchens for lunch. 

  Sitting down at the Slytherin table, her friends gave a start at the sight of her. Tom hadn't told them she'd been released. Delilah flinched involuntarily at the thought of him. Chancing a glance, she was relieved to see he wasn't in his usual seat.

  An arm snaked its way around her and a warm kiss was planted on her temple. "You okay, love?" Elio asked, his presence easing her. Elio was comfortable and safe. The exact antithesis of Tom.

  Tom made her feel on edge. She never knew what he would do next, he kept her one her toes. He was a devil wrapped in a charming exterior. An enigma begging her to delve deeper. He made her think twice, and he made her curious. Tom made her want to know more. She wanted to know how he became who he is. Why he acted the way he did when people were watching and why he acted the way he did when people weren't. He made her feel dangerous and unique and interesting.

  She hated him.

  Three things kept a consistent recession in his head throughout that day.

  Who was Delilah Pontmercy?

  How could she read him so easily?

  And peppermint.

  Delilah smelt like peppermint and it was overwhelming, but not so much as to be intolerable. He suspected it was because of all those candies she ate.

  Anger was still present deep in his chest. As it usually was, but the feeling was being more noticeable due to the lovely conversation he just had. Tom should've just dismissed her, like he usually would've. But he let his control slip.

  Everything she said was true, which not only made him dislike her, but annoyingly curious. How in the name of Merlin was she even possible? He hasn't met a single person like Delilah, besides maybe Dumbledore. But even that old fool didn't realize the true depth of Tom's character. Sure, Dumbledore had his suspicions but none of them were sound.

  Yet there came Delilah, waltzing around all knowing with that ridiculously pleased smile on her face. Her eyes alight with knowledge he craved to know. He wanted to use legilimens on her. But if he did, Tom knew he'd never get the opportunity again. She was a talented witch and he couldn't afford to underestimate her.

  Delilah was something else entirely during Defense Against the Dark Arts when they had to duel. Tom hadn't dueled her yet, not wanting to embarrass her. She was talented, yes, but no match for himself.

  She was quick on her feet, her steps silent. It was surprising to see her fight. She didn't appear intimidating at first glance, but there's a fire in her eyes upon further examination. Delilah held herself with grace, and to his amusement she didn't swear while dueling. Her bottom lip was usually tucked between her teeth, and her blonde hair pulled into a messy knot atop her head. 

  The look of her wasn't proper or put together at all, but it worked.Some part of himself liked seeing her undone. 

  He was also intrigued with the amount of hexes she knew, none of them too kind. Delilah even got a detention at one point after the professor warned her to calm down and ease up on her opponent. 

  Tom remembered her smiling numbly at the teacher, and as soon as the woman turned her back, Delilah scoffed and sent hex at her Hufflepuff opponent. When she got handed the detention slip, there wasn't an ounce of guilt in her royal blue eyes.

  She had a fighter's spirit. A determination that was admirable and could be of great use.

  Over all, he wanted to know what she knew. That way he could rid of her. He didn't like the distraction she had become.

  Every time Tom would open his window for a midnight smoke, he found himself recognizing the night sky was the same shade as her eyes when she was frustrated. Such thoughts weren't necessary when he could be thinking about a million other things. Such as the journey he'd be taking this summer to deal with a certain dark wizard.

  Delilah plaguing his thoughts wasn't entirely his own doing. Elio was also to blame, but overall it was her fault. If only she never transferred to Hogwarts.

  Elio never shut up about her. Ranting nonsense about some joke she told him, or how she did something amusing at lunch, how messy her handwriting was and how it was somehow endearing. Tom scoffed at that, he knew well how terrible her writing was. How she had decent grades was surprising, he didn't think the professors would be able to read it. And Merlin, Tom wanted to shove a cigarette into Elio's eye when he'd start spewing romantic rubbish about how her hair was like golden sun rays and other things of nonsense.

  The fool was in some illusion called love.

  He smiled however, and it was cruel and inhuman. But he didn't care. Delilah was certainly right about one thing: empathy was lost on him.

  Although Tom couldn't read her easily, he could tell she didn't love Elio when the couple was together. Infatuation and endearment, maybe. But not what was believed to be love.

  The notion in itself was ridiculous, love was just some excuse made up by some sod who was driven by lust no doubt. Or pure stupidity. That concept was also lost on Tom. So many saw it as a power, but it was a weakness.

  Love, is what killed his mother. Or what she believed was love. But no, the feeling was false and imitated. His father didn't love his mother, not really, he was under the effects of a love potion his selfish mother had forced him to take. And once she realized how cruel she was being, she took him off it, being foolish enough to think his sentiments might be genuine. Then he left her, called her many things that were anything but kind. And after she gave birth to Tom, she died of a broken heart.

  No. Love was a weakness. Love was hurtful and cruel and merciless. Love was something that got you killed.

  He'd never succumb to such a disadvantage.

  Love was a side effect humanity suffered in order to attempt to cure loneliness.

  But Tom thrived when he was on his own. He could rely on no one but himself. He had a system and it worked.

  Tom developed a protection for himself. He set up walls to save himself from a hostile force, known as the world. He slowly earned this capability during his younger years at the orphanage. If Tom got into trouble, it was because the world was an angry conspiracy against him and he fought his way out through his cleverness and skill. He had a way to twist the circumstances and pin the wrong doings on his opponents. If Tom attacked the world, it was revenge and it was damn well deserved. Like when he murdered his father. 

  The bastard had it coming.

  Tom had strict rules for himself. Don't believe anyone, they have a second motive. Keep his mouth shut, they don't want to hear the truth, tell them what they want to hear and they'll be easy to manipulate. Keep his ears alert and wait till they make a slip up of useful information, grab onto it and wait to use it to his advantage.

  Lastly, do not trust anyone, ever.

  His system worked, Tom had no basis of comparison. He knew it was necessary to be smart if he wanted to survive and he considered himself brilliant. Ten steps ahead of anyone. If he pulled something off, and he always did, it was clever. By the rare chance he failed, that was a stroke of misfortune.

  And the next challenge to overcome was in the form of a five foot two blonde, smelt like peppermint, and had the most haunting eyes he's ever seen.

  Tom Riddle found himself smiling.