"Pontmercy?"

  Delilah blinked. She couldn't keep up with him. One minute he was about to kill her, was threatening her, then passive, acting like she didn't exist, and now he was asking her to come with him for Christmas break.

  "No." 

  Tom had to incline his head forward to hear her, Delilah spoke in a hushed tone so soft he thought he almost imagined it.

   "You've already made plans for the holiday?" He asked. She nearly shook her head. Delilah felt melancholy grip at her, it was like a thorn in her side. She completely forgot about Christmas nearing.

  There was nowhere to go. No one to spend the holiday with. No one to laugh with. No special Weasley jumper. No stupid Christmas carols with Ginny. No baking cookies with Luna. No watching muggle Christmas films with Harrison. There was no home to return to. It wasn't unusual for students to stay at Hogwarts over break. But this was different. Those students had a choice.

  Delilah had nobody and nowhere to turn to. That impossible burn to cry grabbed hold of her again. Her throat felt tight and she looked away from Tom. Tears wouldn't come, she knew that, but a heavy weight was still felt behind her eyes. Dumbledore was nowhere nearer figuring out how to get her home, back to her own time.

  Then a terrible thing happened. An awful, terrible thing.

  Hopelessness.

  Not in all the days, the years, that her life has been threatened had such a drastic feeling occurred to her. There was always more to be done, more to achieve, there was always a light at the end. You just had to keep walking. But where was she to walk to? Delilah had been yanked back in time and placed in an environment completely foreign to her, she was vulnerable. 

  She should've felt strong, she knew of the future after all, She should be taking her circumstances in stride, yet she had never felt so clueless.

  Hopelessness is a terrible thing to feel. It weighed her down into the bed, Delilah was overwhelmed with the urge to just do nothing. Would it really be so bad if she just laid back, and let time take its course? She could live out the rest of her days in this time. Perhaps she could even live to the nineties? Delilah would be in her seventies by then. Would that really be so bad?

  It wasn't like she was helping anyone. Sure, she was fighting for the Order, but she was only one person. And an insignificant one at that. She wasn't Harry; the chosen one, the boy who lived. She wasn't Hermione, the brightest witch of her age. They probably thought she was dead now, anyway. They'd mourn, but they no doubt moved on. They'd have to. There were more pressing matters like the war to worry about, not some seventeen year old girl who met an unfortunate end.

  Tom stared at her. She had the face of young, perplexed pain. Her entire demeanor changed, it was as if he could physically feel her aura turn desolate. Royal blue eyes zoned out, focusing on a single fold in the sheets. Her knees pulled up to her chest, Delilah wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her chin on top. Her shoulders shrunk inwards. She looked dejected, curled in on herself.

  He hated it.

  There was a clear picture of Delilah Pontmercy in his mind's eye. Back straight, brows set, tapping foot, always moving hands, conflicted blue eyes, gnawed lips, her pleased, all-knowing smile. The Delilah in his head was strong. She swore far too much, was comfortable in her own skin, beyond infuriating, and only ever questioned herself around him.

  But the girl in front of Tom simply looked lost.

  He knew something must've been genuinely troubling her, because when he made his way towards her bed, Delilah didn't even blink. She just sat, curled in on herself, staring. Tom stood a foot away from her bed for a moment, mentally debating with his better judgement before sitting on the edge.

  "Where did you learn that spell?" He asked. Delilah knew he'd succumb to his curiosity eventually. "I read about it." It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth either. Tom was aware of this, but based on her current state, he didn't push. "You feel disgusted with yourself, do you not?" Delilah flinched at his blunt phrasing. Her eyes narrowed at him, she only just became aware of how close they were.

  She sat huddled up at the headboard and he sat poised at the foot of the bed. Perhaps they weren't that close, but being on the same bed made it feel that way. 

  Delilah nodded, not trusting her voice. "You shouldn't be." He was talking softly, his usual harsh conviction absent. Delilah shook her head and stretched her legs out, her legs just inches away from him. She stared at the blood coated socks, flashes of Tom twitching on the floor violated her mind. 

  "I could've killed you."

  Tom followed her gaze. Why was she still wearing those fifthly things? "You give yourself too much credit." He tsk-d. Delilah nearly snapped at him, but her breath caught in her throat as she felt his nimble fingers begin to tug the socks off her. He hooked a finger on the top lace trim at her knees, and pulled down so they rolled into a bunch. He took the left one off first, then the right.

  She didn't know what to do.

  "The moral is, strict adherence to a code is pointless." He waved his wand and the dirtied socks disappeared. Delilah felt strangely bare, he's seen too much of her mentally. And the soft, cool touch of his fingers through her ripped tights haunted her, it was revolting yet enticing all at once.

  "Rosier will be attending."

  "What?" 

  Right, Elio, her boyfriend. Guilt gnawed at her heart, they barely spent any time with each other. He devoted so much of himself yet Delilah found herself giving him nothing. He deserved someone who would grant him their undivided attention. Delilah was too scattered, and a relationship was honestly the last thing she needed. 

  Home. That was her goal. She needed to get home. She knew she couldn't stay here forever, and leading Elio on any further would just be cruel.

  "I have concerns about your hearing." Tom sighed, her attention span was annoyingly short today. He dismissed the glare she shot at him. "Avery Manor will be hosting the Yule Ball this holiday, and Avery has invited you." The lie slipped easily past his lips, rolling off his tongue as a second language. 

  Cain didn't invite her, nor did Elio. Now that he thought about it, why didn't Elio invite her? Cain asked Lolita. He almost snickered. The two thought they were being discrete, but anyone could tell they undressed each other with their eyes every time they were in the same room. Abraxas even asked a brunette Ravenclaw, Aurora.

  A Christmas Ball seemed fanciful to Delilah. Too good to be true.

  Getting dressed in an elegant gown, pinning up her hair, doing her makeup, dancing with a handsome boy, laughing with her new friends. Delilah couldn't have that even if she begged on her knees. No, she had to stay at Hogwarts. Research harder on why she arrived in 1943. Dumbledore's been doing all the work, really. If she had been trying harder, could she have already been back home?

  The task seemed impossible. Delilah was smart, but she wasn't insanely brilliant or clever, not like Hermione. Not like Tom. She wondered if he had any ideas, if Tom was in her place, there was no doubt he'd have figured out the solution within a week at most. But no, telling him would be too dangerous. Delilah made a promise to Dumbledore. Any knowledge about the future to the wrong ears could ruin everything. Perhaps even create a paradox where she gets wiped from existence.

  She paled at the thought.

  What if she messed up the timeline up so bad she was never born? 

  All her memories, her childhood, pushing Harrison from that tree house, her grandfather's funeral, getting her acceptance letter from Hogwarts, getting sorted into Ravenclaw, meeting all her friends, throwing Draco into the lake, spilling a potion on Harry, dancing in the astronomy tower with Luna, her first kiss with Blaise. She blushed, she had a lot of her firsts with Blaise.

  They'd be gone. No one would remember her. No one would remember Delilah Meddows ever existed.

  Sirius' death, gifting Dobby a sweater, Dumbledore's funeral, being trapped in the basement with Luna and Ollivander-

  Delilah almost blacked out.

  No.

  No she promised herself to never think about those few months. Those dreadful, nightmarish long months. She was so close to forgetting. Her back ached all the sudden, there were uneven gashes of scar tissue, stretched in an odd arrangement.

  Bellatrix Lestrange wasn't human. She couldn't be, she might bleed red, but there wasn't an ounce of sanity or humility in that woman. That's why Delilah flinched every time Pyrrhus was called by his last name.

  Delilah didn't think she was capable of torturing someone to the point of death, but there was a special place reserved in her heart for Bellatrix. She would never act on it, she had no right to. If anyone were to take her down, that belonged to Harry. She killed Sirius, his godfather, her cousin, the only parental figure Harry had left in his life.

  Of all days, why did those memories decide to resurface?

  Tom noticed her rosy skin lose the warm hue, her breathing became shallow, and Delilah appeared to be trembling. What really have it away was royal blue fading to crystalline. Surely a Yule Ball wasn't the cause of her anguish. Tom opened his mouth, paused, then continued.

  "Are you alright?"

  Every cell in her body told Delilah to scream at him to go away. Tom couldn't see her like this, this was possibly the lowest she could reach. Those months in the basement at Malfoy manor had been the worst of her life, how she had the endurance to get through it was beyond her.

  If Tom saw her break, really break, she had no idea what he'd do with such information. He certainly wouldn't comfort her, that was a notion lost on him. Delilah didn't want his comfort if it was feigned. She didn't want anyone's pity. Would he mock her? Tell her she was weak for letting the past affect her? Weak for even letting herself be put in such a situation? Use it against her?

  Delilah knew he wouldn't tell anyone unless he got some benefit out of leaking the information. He wasn't the type to spread rumors just for the fun of it.

  However, he did hate her.

  But if the roles were reversed, would she do the same to Tom? No, she couldn't. She hated him, yes. With every inch of her being. But Delilah would never stoop so low to inflict pain on others just to appease herself.

  "Yeah." She breathed, tying her blonde locks into a messy knot. "I'm alright."

  Tom sighed at the lie.

  "And no." 

  He was observing his wand, the only indication that he heard her was the quirk of one brow. "I can't go with you- with Elio to Avery's manor." Tom turned to her, the sheets strained with the movement. 

  "Tell him I said thank you for the offer, though." Delilah wanted to move away from Tom, but when she tried, she hit the headboard.

  He didn't miss the notion and his lips pulled up. She was afraid of him and he hadn't the faintest clue why. He was intimidating, he knew that, and he had the ability to hurt her, Tom proved that when they dueled. And she proved she had the capability of not only wounding him, but nearly killing him. Admittedly, he did let his control slip that one time when he pushed her into a classroom and pinned her to a wall. But that was the least of what he could do.

  Delilah would make it so much easier on herself if she didn't analyze everything he did, if she let her curiosity drop, and just stay away from him.

  But could he do the same for her?

  No. He couldn't. How quickly he answered the question, and with ease, was unnerving, but Tom dismissed it. She was fascinating. And every time he talked to her, something more interesting and strange got added to the mystery that was Delilah Pontmercy. And Tom indebted himself to putting each fragment together himself, piece by piece. Part of himself wanted to get it over with as soon as possible.

  As soon as he figured out who she was, he could move on and Delilah would no longer be a distraction.

  But the other half wanted to drag this out, take his time, and savor it. He hadn't met someone so enticing in ages and he found himself almost not wanting to let go of such a challenge.

  Tom nodded and stood up.

  Delilah nearly frowned, the bed felt like a sheet of ice all the sudden. "I will notify Avery as soon as I see him, then."

  As Delilah dragged herself to Dumbledore's office, Slughorn's yelling was still ringing in her ears. He was a furious blubber of a man when he'd burst through the infirmary doors. Tom and Delilah had gotten a weeks worth of detention, which wasn't that bad considering how seriously they harmed each other. They also wouldn't be serving the detentions till after break, and Delilah hoped he'd forget about the incident until then.

  Raising a fist, Delilah knocked once before the door swung open. "Are you alright Miss Pontmercy? I heard about your little predicament." Dumbledore's bright blue eyes were soft as he stared down at her, it warmed Delilah to the core and she felt like hugging him.

  She settled for a smile. "I'm alright, you wanted to see me?" Delilah was in no mood to talk about Tom any longer. Or anything concerning the past twenty four hours. "Ah," he clicked his tongue. "Yes, I've had a revelation."

  Her eyes widened.

  Had he figured it out? Was she going home? Merlin she felt like she was going to faint. She could go home. See the Order, tell them she was alive. See her family. See her friends. What would she tell them? A smile reached her lips, but it left as quickly as it came.

  "A pensieve!" He cheered and revealed a large, thin, bowl on his desk with a swirling liquid inside.

  She wasn't going home.

  Delilah scolded herself for being such a pessimist.

  She wasn't going home. Yet.

  As Dumbledore explained what the pensieve was, she stepped closer and observed finely carved runic text marking the sides. She knew what a pensieve did, but the man seemed excited so she let him ramble.

  "If you allow me to see the memories, I can analyze them further and see if there is any background information we might've missed." He finished. Delilah nodded, that made sense. But unease fought its way forward.

  Did he have to see everything?

  Dumbledore must've read her thoughts by her troubled expression alone. "I know this can be difficult. Memories are a special, sacred thing to us all. But Delilah, however much your uncomfortable, what you have in your head will help get you home." She knew he was right. But having someone else see everything she's endured, all the pain, she felt bare. Exposed.

  But this was Dumbledore.

  She could trust him.

  "Okay."

  He walked her through how to pull memories from one's head. She lightly placed the tip of her wand to her temple, focused, and tugged. She divulged what she could of the night of her death. Of the meetings that lead up to that moment.

  It was too much. The memories felt new and vivid again. As if she was home. One after another came, some she didn't want anyone seeing, but they were already out. "Sorry." Delilah muttered, but he smiled softly and placed each memory of hers into a vial, labeling each as she described them. "I'll go through these as soon as I can, I'll call on you if any new information arises."

  Before Delilah left, he stopped her in the doorway. "Be careful, Miss Pontmercy." His tone was strained and she furrowed her eyebrows. "Sir?" Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, his fingers steeped under his chin. "Hate cannot live on its own. It must have love as a trigger, as a stimulant. Be wary of who your affections lean towards."

  She huffed. That was Dumbledore, cryptic as ever.

  The Slytherin common room was empty, all except a boy standing in the center with a bouquet of flowers and an embarrassed smile. "Elio?" A grin tugged at her lips at the sight of his flushed cheeks. He was adorable. "Evening, love." He handed her the roses and kissed her forehead. "Riddle told me you were alright."

  Her lips parted in an invisible sigh. Why'd he have to mention Tom? His arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her close as looked down at her, pale green eyes soft as he spoke. "Are you busy?" He asked.

  She should nod her head. Say yes, she was busy. Tell him this wasn't going to work out. Tell him she couldn't give him what he wanted. Tell him she couldn't offer more of herself. Tell him they should stop this relationship before one of them seriously got hurt. Stop this before he got his heartbroken.

  "No, I'm not busy." What was wrong with her?

  Delilah hated herself. How could she put Elio through this? To save herself trouble, to save her pride? She was too much of a coward to break up with him. It would only hurt him worse down the line. But he looked so content as he stood in front of her, arms holding her close, a smile on his face.

  "Splendid, m'lady?" He offered his arm in an overzealous chivalrous manner. Her shame twisted in her chest like a knife as she looped her arm through his. "Why thank you good sir."

  No matter how many times she asked, Elio wouldn't tell her where they were going. He led her outside, dusk was approaching and the sky was a soft purple. It was cold, but she didn't mind. Their feet crunched through snow and eventually they reached one of the greenhouses.

  Elio opened the door and stepped aside, ushering her inside with a ridiculously pleased smile on his face. Raising a brow at the boy, Delilah walked inside and nearly tripped over her own astonishment. "Oh... oh Elio this is beautiful."

  She spun around in a circle, the temperature inside was warm and comfortable. There were candles lining the middle table, casting the greenhouse in an orange glow, the frosted windows soaking in the light. Flowers of all sorts bloomed, the colors vivid and the floral scent engulfed her senses.

  Something white caught her eye and she felt her heart stop. "Elio you didn't." He beamed at her and led her to the large blanket he laid out at the end of the greenhouse. There were simple snack foods, fruits, two sandwiches, pepper imps, and sugar quills.

  Delilah smiled to the best of her ability. He really shouldn't have. Guilt was racking up. He was too good for her, she didn't deserve any of this treatment.

  They had a nice dinner, talked about the most random things. He ranted about how infuriating Abraxas was before each Quidditch match, and Delilah talked about how amusing Slughorn was when he was mad.

  "Que será, será. Whatever will be, will be. The future's not ours to see. Que será, será. What will be, will be."

  Delilah sung the tune on repeat as she made her way to the library. It was well around two in the morning, but sleep wasn't granting her a visit anytime soon.

  The irony of the song was nearly painful. 'The future's not ours to see.' It was strange when she thought about it. There was a truth in that lyric.

  Even though Delilah was from the future, and had a broad understanding of what there was to come, she still had no idea what lies ahead of her. She doesn't belong here, that's why. Delilah was careful, but her presence alone had to have at least changed something. She just prayed it was minute.

  "Planning to join frog choir?" A deep, sultry voice asked. Her eyes shut tightly and she counted to five before turning around. "Riddle, what are you doing here?" The moonlight filtering into the dark hall made him barely visible. A shiver ran itself down her spine.

  He looked like a phantom.

  He smelt more strongly of smoke, it wasn't overwhelming, but she felt herself leaning forward. "I should be asking you that, Pontmercy. You're out after curfew." Although Delilah couldn't see well, she could physically feel him smirking. 

  "Yeah well, so are you."

  A dry chuckle escaped his lips. Apparently she was on low stock of her usual witty comebacks. "I'm the head boy, I can be out wherever I please past curfew." Her blonde hair soaked in the pale moonlight, making it take on a blue tint and her eyes glinted as if two stars were plucked from the skies. "Well in that case, be somewhere else and fuck off."

  Tom tilted his head to the side, eyebrow raised. "I beg your pardon?"

  Delilah felt like smacking him, and she didn't know why. Well, there were many reasons. But none to justify her current predicament.

  No, she knew why.

  His stupid face was an incessant presence during her date with Elio. The logical side of herself knew Tom technically had no say in the situation. It was entirely her own doing for thinking about him, she tried not to, but her attempts were fruitless.

  "You're infuriating." Her voice was quiet, as if she was speaking to herself. Why did he have to have such a persistent presence. Why couldn't he just be normal? Average. Boring. Not interesting. Not brilliant. Not frightening.

  It'd make everything so much easier.

  Why'd he save to stand there, two feet in front of her, looking so beautiful in the moonlight. There was no denying he wasn't physically attractive, Tom looked crafted by the gods themselves. He walked stoic, confidence dripping off every inch of himself. Chin held high, dark eyes blazing.

  She just wanted to talk to him, just once. Have a discussion and not want to rip her hair out or throw him out the window. What did he know? What knowledge was buried inside that brilliant mind of his? What were his opinions on weird and minute topics? If he could change the world, how would Tom Riddle go about it? What did he feel? Did he even feel anything? Tom was so insanely composed, Delilah was sure the only two things he ever felt were pride and disdain.

  Another question rang in her head, extremely loud.

  What did he want from her?

  He had to want something. Anything. There would be no other reason for him to keep talking to her. Elio being her boyfriend wasn't a reason. The boys were hardly Tom's friends, they were more like colleagues, Tom only associated with them because they're useful. Their names put them in high places, they have connections. So why did he keep talking to her? Why bother? She obviously annoyed him to death. They nearly killed each other in class.

  Sure, he was curious. Delilah was weird, something abstract from other people in this timeline. But surely there were a plethora of other people with similar characteristics. What would happen when that flame of curiosity went out? Would he ignore her then? Brush her off like he does with Olive?

  Her stomach lurched at the thought. A part of herself didn't want to be dismissed like an old coat he only found use in once in awhile. She was unique in his eyes, and Delilah hated herself for liking it that way. Being in his line of interest was a dangerous game. But one she found herself willing to play.

  "Walk with me." If it was meant to be a question, he phrased it like a command. He turned and she found herself walking next to him. Her shorter legs trying to keep up with his long stride.

  "I know you have a complete lack of trust in me." Tom's tone was painfully casual, as if he was discussing something as mundane as the weather. "That obvious?" She didn't want to look at him. She couldn't. So as she felt his eyes bore into the side of her face, she counted the cracks in the stone floors.

  "I don't trust you, either."

  Tom debated with himself if admitting that was a good idea. But the notion felt like a given. It was clear neither of them were fond of each other.

  Panic grabbed hold of Delilah. Did he know something? Had he perhaps overheard a meeting with Dumbledore? Was he going to do something as brash as pinning her to a wall again? Before a ridiculous question could leave her mouth, he continued.

  "You're probably confused." He sighed, as if he was taking to an incompetent child. She sneered. Delilah felt like nothing to him. Just another insect wandering beneath the feet of a god. An insect he wouldn't mind crushing if he simply felt like it.

  "You're honest. You hold yourself above a standard. You tether yourself to humanity and empathy, leaching off of other's misery to adhere to your code- don't look at me like that it's true. It's the way the world works. Empathy drives people. So they don't feel guilty for putting their own needs first, their own ambitions, what they want most in life. But it's people like you I have to watch out for. I'll never know when you decide to flip your morale and tell a lie."

  Tom sighed a bit dramatically and glanced sideways at her. Soaking in the puzzled expression on her features. Her skin soaked in the the pale moonlight, making her seem like a ghost. "It is quite exhausting."

  "You're unbelievable." Her tone wasn't harsh, but breathless. He raised a brow, silently urging her to continue. Usually he wouldn't be able to get her to talk, and he wasn't about to let go of an opportunity if he saw one.

  "The way you view the world is fascinating." Her eyes danced towards the wall as they walked, mentally counting each painting they passed. "You're a hopeful pessimist. You see the ugly in everyone you meet, but you strive to improve yourself. Wanting to be better than them, which is ridiculous that you even think you have to try."

  She didn't allow herself to blush.

  He had the world at his disposal. What did it cost him? He seemed to lack a good portion of humanity, but thinking such a thing felt extreme. He was screwed up, no doubt. But brilliant.

  What will he do with such knowledge? A ministry job seemed like the most logical, yet idiotic thing ever. He'd have the resources, but Delilah felt a government job would be too noisy. From what she observed, Tom liked to wait in the shadows before he pounced, only to turn back and wait for the next victim. A ministry job came with too many eyes watching.

  Tom had possessed something inside her.

  She found herself not wanting to give it up.

  Not just yet.

  Tom hummed, he felt a strange sense of unease settle in his chest. Digging into his front pocket, he pulled out a cigarette and snapped his fingers to light it. Sucking in a deep drag, he blew the smoke from his nose and turned to look at Delilah. He was expecting her to have her nose scrunched in disgust, scolding him to put out the smelling tobacco. But her royal blue eyes only lingered on the curtain of smoke emitting from the cigarette, her eyes following the swirling movement.

  He dangled it between his teeth as he spoke. "You don't seem surprised." Delilah shrugged as she watched the cigarette bob with the movement of his jaw.

  "I can usually smell the tobacco on you." He made a humming noise, as if in thought. She watched as he breathed in before pulling the rolled cigarette from his lips. The sight was a bit overwhelming. Tom's head tilted back as white fog seeped from his lips, he looked like something out of a muggle film with a Rebel who didn't care about the frantically spinning world around him.

  "I like it though, so I never complained." Stupid, embarrassing nonsense kept tumbling out of her mouth. His cheek twitched in what could be assumed as a restrained smile. "I'm trusting you not to share this information." Was that amusement in his tone or was she going mad?

  "I thought you didn't trust me?"

  Why was she smiling?

  Mad. She was definitely going mad.

  "Perhaps I can indulge you just this once."

  There. She wasn't brooding or being philosophical. Her aura became lighter again and he felt a pressure lift from his chest. Delilah was easier to handle if she was in a decent mood.