Late the next evening when everyone else was down in a sitting room or outside, Delilah went to fetch Pyrrhus, seeing as he hadn't left his room all day.

  She knocked twice but there was no answer.

  "Pyrrhus, love. Are you alright?" No response. Delilah went to turn to leave but heard glass shattering from the other side of the door, followed by muffled cursing. With a furrow of her brow, she unlocked the door and rushed inside. "Pyrrhus?" He wasn't anywhere in the room, when she turned, Delilah spotted a beam of light coming from the bathroom door.

  Biting at her lip worriedly, she walked over and lightly wrapped on the door. "You okay?" There was a sigh from the other side, and a beat of silence passed before Pyrrhus muttered for her to come in.

  When she opened the door, her eyes widened as she took in the sight in front of her. "Merlin, what happened?" There was a bottle of fire whiskey shattered on the floor and she could smell the alcohol off him. Pyrrhus sat slumped in the tub, fully dressed, and he looked dreadful.

  His eyes were swollen and red rimmed, his hair was a mess, and his clothing was askew. With a wave of her hand, Delilah cleared the glass and knelt by the tub. He wasn't looking at her, instead his eyes were trained on his hands.

  Looking over, Delilah realized he was clutching a letter. Tears were threatening to spill over and he sniffed before aggressively wiping at his eyes. She took it he wasn't one to typically cry, at least not in front of someone. Delilah looked at him in worry and brushed his hair back before standing up to go the sink.

  She wet a cloth with warm water and went back to the tub. She was giving him time to talk if he wanted, not wanting to force him into saying anything. They weren't relatively close. The most time they spent together was when he took her dress shopping.

  Pyrrhus was different from the rest of the group, he always had a smile on his face and a joke to tell. There was a lightness in him.

  He closed his eyes as Delilah patted his forehead with the cloth, she slowly made her way to his cheeks and pressed the fabric under his sore eyes. Nearly ten minutes passed before he finally spoke.

  "He broke up with me." His voice was strained and he turned his face away from her, too scared to gauge her reaction. Delilah let out a small breath through her nose and placed a hand to his cheek, turning him to face her.

  Pyrrhus looked at her slowly and felt his shoulders relax at the reassuring smile on her lips. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to." He rested his own hand above hers and gave it a squeeze, it was cold but it helped wake him up a bit.

  He looked at her a long moment, searching her eyes for any hint of judgement. He found none, and there was an overwhelming urge to hug her, but he refrained and stuck to holding her hand.

  "His name's Ovela, I met him last summer in Greece." Pyrrhus began, a hint of a reminiscent smile on his lips.

  He remembered how they stumbled upon each other, in an odd circumstance to say the least. His family was on holiday, but Pyrrhus snuck out one night to tour Santorini on his own. At a small cafe on a street corner, he met Ovela. He was a waiter, but was nearing the end of his shift so he sat to talk with Pyrrhus. Ovela was already done with school, being eighteen. Pyrrhus was a sixteen year old suddenly infatuated with the olive skinned boy in front of him, hanging off every word. For the rest of the holiday, Ovela showed him around, took him to smaller islands, and eventually they fell enraptured with one another. But the trip came to and end, and they departed.

  "We've been sort of going about long distance, through letters." He said with a sniff, staring at Ovela's scrawl on the parchment. "It obviously wasn't working for him."

  Delilah rubbed his back lightly, offering as much comfort as she could. She wasn't too great at this sort of thing. He sighed and let his hands fall limp against his propped up knees, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "Did I do something wrong? We should've met up, but with school-"

  "Hey," Delilah said quietly, urging him to look at her. "Do not blame yourself. Not everything works out, not everything has to." She watched as he clenched his jaw and sighed. "What did he say in the letter?"

  Pyrrhus laughed dryly and glared at the offending note. "Not much, the usual. He basically apologized for things going south, but he wanted 'more' and that was something I couldn't give him. And then he said bye." With a groan, he rested his forehead on his knees. Delilah took to running her fingers through his hair, she always saw Ginny do that to Harry, and it seemed to calm him down.

  "A clean cut heals the quickest." Delilah watched the boy in front of her carefully and felt like hexing whoever this Ovela was for breaking him. She's never seen Pyrrhus in such a state. "Associations held together by simple parchment aren't always the happiest, if you can't hear or touch someone, it's best to let them go."

  She took his face in her hands, letting her thumbs run softly underneath his eyes. The cool touch of her fingers soothed him a bit and he felt like crying again, his throat grew tight and a pressure built behind his eyes. "I know you probably want me to tell you everything will be rays of sunshine by tomorrow."

  He smiled, "that would be nice."

  Delilah shook her head and pulled him into a hug, resting her chin atop his head. Pyrrhus closed his eyes at her touch and felt the tears threatening to spill over run down his cheeks. She smelt like peppermint and it was oddly comforting.

  "Lies are often used in kindness, but I don't think lies ever really work to such a benefit. There's a quick pain to truth that easily passes. But the slow ache of a lie can eat at someone, it can damage their heart, it's an agony never lost." Delilah knew was being a hypocrite. She kept telling herself her situation was different. She had to lie, she didn't have a choice.

  They sat like that for a few minutes, or maybe it was hours. They didn't know. "Give yourself time to heal, Pyrrhus. Don't try to bottle it up and act like it doesn't hurt. That will only make things worse." She pulled back and wiped away his tears with the damp cloth, he smiled at her.

  "Has anyone ever broken up with you? Was it sudden, were you expecting it all?" He asked after a moment, not really sure if he was allowed to. Delilah hummed as she thought about it, she hadn't really dated anyone until Elio.

  Pyrrhus read the expression on her face differently than what it actually meant and gave her hand a squeeze. Smiling at her sympathetically. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled out a flask and took a swig of whiskey. He always seemed to have alcohol on him.

  "To us, the ones who fall in love alone." He handed her the flask and she stared at it for a moment. An odd tug in her chest started, and she hesitantly took a gulp of the burning liquid.

  "To us."

  She made a face at the foul alcohol and stood up, helping him out of the tub. As they walked into his room, Delilah made way for his door but a hand on her shoulder stopped her. "Don't tell any of the boys, please." There was a glint in his eyes she wasn't familiar with, he was asking for a promise.

  "It's just... I'm not ready for them to know yet." He shuffled on his feet and let out a breath and she hugged him. "Of course, whatever you need. Come to me if you need help, okay? I'm always available." Delilah smiled at him once more before leaving the room, shutting the door quietly behind her.

  Pyrrhus stared at the door for a few moments before shaking his head. He liked Delilah, she was a genuine person and had a heart of gold. It was just a shame she fell into the likes of being their friend.

  They weren't decent people, no matter how much she convinced herself other wise. It was even more a shame Tom took an interest in her. In truth, Pyrrhus was worried, and scared for the girl.

  He just prayed Tom would find something else to occupy his curiosity before he hurt her.

  She was bored out of her wits, so she took to trying to balance her wand on her nose.

  Tom sat at a desk in the library a few feet away from her, observing the action with a raised brow and a slight quirk of his lips. She looked like a child at the moment, he wouldn't be surprised if she ended up poking her eye out.

  Delilah carefully placed her wand on the tip of her nose, her head tilted back, and she slowly let go of her wand. For a mere second, the wand stood tall. Tom watched her eyes light up, but all too soon the wand fell over. "Damn!" She sighed, only to start over.

  He narrowed his eyes and rested his chin in the palm of his hand. "Pontmercy, that's the twelfth attempt. It's honestly growing to be a bit embarrassing." Her own eyes narrowed in a glare, but she kept her gaze focused on her wand. "I'll have you know it's much harder than it looks."

  The wand fell over again and she huffed, finally turning to look at him. He held an amused glimmer in his dark eyes and she felt a blush creeping up her neck, only just realizing he'd been watching her the whole time. "Why don't you try it then?"

  Tom raised a brow. "You want me to balance a wand on my nose like an absolute imbecile?" Delilah nodded and her jaw ticked, gesturing for him to go for it. "No, thank you." He said simply, and opened a book to indicate the conversation was over. But alas, her heavy gaze could be felt and after a moment, he looked up at her through his lashes.

  "Why not? Afraid you'll fail?" She was taunting him, that was obvious. Tom was good at everything, a fact he was well aware of. With a sigh, he leaned back in his chair and held out a hand. Only to be met with a questioning glance. "Your wand," He said flatly, as if it should be obvious.

  "Excuse me?" Delilah's hand held her own tightly, not at all trusting him. "I can't very well use mine, the handle wouldn't be suitable and would give you an unfair advantage." He raised his brows expectantly, and with a sigh, Delilah hesitantly handed her wand over.

  He leaned his head back, and she did her best to ignore the way the tendons in his neck stretched. Delilah also found herself staring at his hands a bit too much, they way he handled her wand made it seem far more elegant than necessary.

  After a few seconds of him balancing it on his nose, he let go, and it only swayed slightly.

  Her jaw went slack and Tom could physically feel the daggers she was glaring at him, he couldn't help but smirk. Delilah leaned over the table and snatched her wand back, muttering a few swears under her breath.

  Tom tsk-d with the shake of his head. "Such a sore loser. Really Pontmercy, I expected better sportsmanship from you."

  Her lip curled as she shoved her wand in her pocket, "piss off."

  He then stood, "alright." And he began to walk off. Her brows furrowed as she watched his form start to retreat. Despite herself, the question left her lips before she could stop it. "Where are you going?"

  Without looking at her, he said, "I'm doing as told, for once." He turned the corner that exited the library and Delilah bit at her lip, mentally debating with herself. With a groan, she stood up and followed after him.

  When she turned the corner, she found Tom leaning against the wall, looking down at her with a knowing tilt to his lips. She felt like smacking herself.

  He knew she'd follow.

  Delilah set her jaw and started forward, Tom falling in step with her. His mouth opened but she held up a hand, "not a word from you." Tom closed his lips slowly, though a near smile was threatening to surface. He did love to rile her up, it put him in such a good mood.

  They walked for awhile in silence, Delilah lost in the memory of the night before, of her night with Elio.

  "Do near nude statues really make you that flustered?" A voice mused and she early screamed. Whirling around, Delilah found Tom looking down at her with his head tilted to the side.

  Without realizing, Delilah followed him outside to the statue garden, which was well away from the manor. Clearing her throat, she turned her back to him and weaved between the sculptures. She couldn't stand thinking about last night. Not because it was a bad experience, far from it. She just felt guilty for what she couldn't get her mind off afterwards.

  Usually, like any normal person, their thoughts would be filled with the image of their lover. But in Delilah's messed up mind, she couldn't stop thinking of the boy she was currently with.

  Every time she tried to go to sleep, his dark coffee eyes invaded her mind. Every time Elio would tighten his grip around her, she couldn't help but remember that day Tom slowly took off her socks... or the day he pinned her to the wall. And his stupid scent, she was so used to it now, she often found herself longing for it when he wasn't around.

  Burnt wood, parchment, and cigarettes.

  Delilah turned and saw Tom was eyeing a sculpture of a man in an oratory pose, with scholarly like drapes about him. The mans chin was held high, and column was supporting him at his feet. The sculpture was that of a leader, a man of power, a man of the people.

  As she looked at Tom, she couldn't help but see sone of the same characteristics. He was a natural born leader.

  His head was tilted up as he gazed critically at the marble, Delilah's eyes trailed along the line of his jaw and watched the way the wind ruffled his dark curls.

  Damn him.

  "Is that your favorite?" She said after a moment, trying her best to regain her composure. He blinked, nearly forgetting she was there. "I don't necessarily have a favorite."

  Delilah rolled her eyes and gestured to the statues around them. "But of the others, is that your most preferred?" Tom turned back to the man, and after a moment, nodded once. "I suppose."

  She walked over to stand next to him, tilting her own head up to look. It was beautifully carved. "This is similar to the statue of Augustus of Primaporta, same stance and subject manner." Delilah muttered, the only thing really missing was his chest plate, slightly shorter hair, and a Cupid at his feet.

  Tom hummed, looking at her before turning his gaze to the rest of the garden. "And which of these is your favorite?" He knew exactly which one it was, it was the fallen angel. She could be seen clearly from the third floor window each time she went to the garden, and each time Tom found her gazing at the sculpture.

  As expected, Delilah made a beeline for it. She almost seemed eager to show him it.

  The angel sat on a rock, chains were around each ankle and bound into the base. The figure sat hunched and its face showed one of agony and defeat. The angel had its mouth hung ajar, in a silent wail, and a tear could be seen falling from its eye. And in its arms held two large, severed wings. Littered at the base of the rock were feathers that had withered. Tom circled to the back of the statue, and the stumps of where the wings once were could be seen. The cuts were jagged and other scars lined the taut muscles.

  "Do you suppose it's Lucifer?" Delilah asked, there was something odd in her voice. Tom peered around the marble, taking in her emotional response to the artwork.

  It was strange, how inanimate objects could move people in such a way. He didn't understand it. Admittedly, objects of power were alluring, but they were different from works of art.

  Delilah's brows were furrowed, she was biting at her lip, and she looked troubled as she gazed upon the forsaken angel.

  He wasn't too well versed in biblical allusions, but he supposed Lucifer wouldn't be too far off. "Perhaps."

  "I personally find the story rather depressing." A sigh passed her lips and she sat on a stone carved bench, her neck craned upwards. "He became so impressed with his own intelligence, power, and beauty that he desired more. He desired the honor and glory that belonged to god alone. But this ruined him, and it was his downfall, he was cast out of Heaven. Deprived of his title of god's favorite angel. His pride is believed to be the beginning of sin in the universe, preceding the fall of Adam in time."

  Her eyes shifted to Tom and she bit at her bottom lip. Delilah couldn't help but wonder if his own pride would eventually cause him to fall. There was no shortage of similarities between him and the fallen angel before them.

  "The same goes for Hades, sort of. He's the rejected brother, and was forsaken to rule the underworld even though he didn't want to. He too was cast out from Olympus. And all grew to fear the lonely god. But he got the better deal. He found his Persephone." Though kidnapping her was a bit excessive, Delilah supposed. But it was true, honest love in the end. And Hades was the only loyal husband of the Gods. Unlike his man-whore brother, Zeus and Poseidon.

  Tom began to walk off and she trailed behind, not having anything better to do and a poor sense in judgement. "Are you excited for the ball?"

  "Excited?" He scoffed, "hardly. This ball is purely for the purpose of pretense. It's an excuse to spend an excessive amount of money to flaunt position and status. It's also a way for certain families to make sure their ties within the Ministry stay strong." The ball was also a way for him to make connections that will secure his own future. But she didn't need to know that.

  "The Sacred Twenty Eight are desperate in my opinion. They're dying out, lineages are going either dry or are being infected with mud- with non pure blood." He stopped himself from saying the term. It wasn't to be kind, he just wasn't in the mood to hear Delilah yell at him. "So what are they doing? Trying to find suitable means for continuing. Money alone won't always save them, and the Ministry has global connections. It's children playing politics."

  He walked more into the wooded area of the land owned by the Avery's, they had a rather large deposit of forests. His steps were careful and well practiced as he avoided dips and branches. Delilah however, was trying her best not to trip. "And nowadays, people have no bloody clue what they're doing. People who inherited their money always get into trouble."

  "Then why come if you loathe it so much?" She said after a moment, pushing a low tree branch out of the way.

  That was a simple, yet very complicated question. With a simple, yet very complicated answer.

  He couldn't tell her, though Tom questioned why not. He knew she wouldn't judge him, and that alone irked him. Delilah has a certain hopefulness to her that he couldn't wrap his mind around. The world was too cruel for such fantasies. Tom learned that at a young age.

  His reasons for coming were simple. For one; business opportunities. Delilah knew he was an ambitious person, so it wouldn't be too questionable. And second; he would be damned if he had to spend his last holiday at Wool's Orphanage.

  That he wouldn't dare tell her. She already knew much more about him than he cared to admit, but if Delilah knew of his past, that'd be giving her too much. Too much of what, exactly? Knowledge? A power over him?

  No, that was ridiculous. He barely knew of her childhood, what right did Delilah have to know of his?

  "I was invited," he finally answered. "It'd be rude to decline such an offer." Delilah didn't believe him, but knew it would be pointless to push.

  "Have you ever heard of Leopold and Loeb?" She asked, not liking the sudden silence that fell over them. Even the wooded area seemed awfully quiet. Tom shook his head, not finding the names familiar. Delilah felt herself smiling at the notion she knew something Tom didn't, but it quickly fell away at the note that Tom typically found muggle related topics useless.

  "It's a famous trial from 1924, of two college students in Chicago convicted of kidnapping and murder." She began and Tom hummed. "Is this a muggle trial?" He asked and she shot him a look. "Yes, now listen." He bit at his cheek but nodded, not having the energy to tell her he didn't care. He wasn't in the mood to argue.

  "They were teenagers from a wealthy Chicago suburb, top of their classes and got into college early. Both incredibly intelligent, but they grew bored of their circumstances and needed entertainment.

  "So they planned to kidnap one of their classmates, things went a little off plan and said classmate ended up getting murdered. They were found guilty, but had an incredible defense. He used empathy to provoke the judge into feeling responsible if he sentenced the boys to death, saying their blood would be on his hands. And how the rest of young boys in America would feel the weight as well."

  "Is there a point to this?" Tom sighed, pushing a branch back and letting go, pointedly hitting Delilah in the face. She cursed under her breath and shoved the leaves away, brushing the hair and twigs from her face. "Yes there's a point you asshole." He raised a brow at the crude name but let her continue.

  "The boys were spared their lives and sentenced to life in prison. What the case basically proved is, that if you have enough money and status, you can basically get away with anything. I see so much of that still nowadays, and it's so frustrating. Leopold and Loeb thought they were smarter than everyone, it was like a game to them. And that poor boy they killed was nothing but a chess piece to keep them entertained."

  Disgust at the two filled her chest and prodded at her heart. And as her eyes landed on Tom, she couldn't help but see some of the same traits. He too, liked to play with people. Simply because he could.

  Tom didn't miss the sudden shift in her aura, or the darkening of her eyes. There it was, that familiar hatred towards him. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, "what've I done now?"

  "Oh don't give me that shit." She spat, taking a brave step forward and poked him in the chest. "You're just like the rest of those 'children playing politics' whether or not you recognize it. You're narcissistic and proud, and you just as well play with people. Not bothering for how you might affect them. Are you forgetting what happened to Xan and Katerina? Or that time you shoved me against a wall? Oh! Or that time you nearly threw me off the fucking astronomy tower?" Tom took hold of her hand and pulled it away, not finding her yelling at him amusing.

  Oh, if only she knew the similarities he had with Leopold and Loeb. If she did, Delilah would surely be running away screaming.

  Flashes of the night he killed his father rang in his mind, the green bursts of light brightening up the room at Riddle Manor.

  Yes, she'd surely be afraid of him if she knew.

  But he was not a child, and he wasn't simply playing a game. No, he knew the inner workings of politics. He knew how it's leaders thought, he knew how to strategize, and he had a plan to get to the top. He also knew how people thought, he knew their desires. And he was a master at bending people to his will through their weaknesses.

  Delilah tried to ignore the way his hand felt as it engulfed her own, it was warm and the pads of his fingers calloused. They were so close, she could nearly feel his body against hers. Their breaths swirled around each other in the crisp air, the grass soft beneath their shoes, only inches apart.

  "I'd caution you against making such broad judgements of character. Have you forgotten you nearly killed me as well?" Tom spoke quietly, though they were the only two people in at least a mile radius. Which should've frightened her, but Delilah oddly felt at peace with the notion.

  He began to step back and her hand fell from his. She felt cold all the sudden, and her steps followed his without a thought. What was wrong with her? He broke through a few trees and led them into a clearing, somewhat similar to a meadow.

  "Tomorrow is surely going to be exhausting." He began, but Delilah tuned him out. Her eyes were trained on the way his body moved. Tom never seemed to be out of place, any where they went. He always knew how to fit in, how to walk, how to speak. He adapted to the environment around him, and warped it to fit his needs. It was fascinating.

  He then bent down and picked up a twig, twirling it a few times in his fingers. Similar to how he twirled his wand. "I'd advise you to be careful to who you speak to at the ball, some families are better at spotting a pretender than others." He handed her something and Delilah took it without really paying attention. Her eyes wouldn't leave the way his lips moved as he spoke. Tom turned away and began to cut through the trees again, back the way they came.

  Delilah only looked down as something sharp pricked her hand. Her hiss turned into a gasp as she realized she was holding a white rose. The thorns had cut into her palm, the blood pooling and running down her arm. The sting was quickly forgotten as she stared at it wide eyed.

  Tom Riddle had given her a flower.

  She was at a loss for words. Why on earth would he give her such a thing? The gesture was surely beyond him. And he wasn't acknowledging it. There he was, five feet in front of her, just walking. Not saying a word.

Nearly ten minutes passed of silence before she cleared her throat. "You know, I might've forgotten to mention a...small fact about the Deathly Hallows." Tom stopped in his tracks and she felt herself smiling. That definitely got his attention. He turned his head to look at her over his shoulder, an eyebrow raised. His eyes glanced at the streaks of crimson running down her arm and sighed.

Must she really be so careless?

He walked forward and watched the way she took a sharp intake of breath as he held her arm. She really should get better at hiding her emotions. Wearing them on her sleeve will get her nowhere. "Meaning?" He asked, taking out his wand and running it over her forearm, cleaning away the blood and closing the cuts in her palm.

Delilah gulped, doing her best to wet her dry mouth. Must he stand so close?

"I might've left out what it meant if one were to come into possession of all three hallows." She didn't allow herself to wince as his grip on her arm grew tighter. "Pontmercy," He said slowly, raising a hand to grip her chin. He tilted her head up so she was forced to look at him. His eyes had gone dark again.

"Tell me."

Delilah never would get used to the way his voice made her feel. The temperature around them seemed to drop, yet rise all at once. Her skin felt on fire, but it was also as if she'd been dunked into ice cold water. And Merlin had his voice really dropped a few octaves? How is that even possible?

She tried to wedge away from his grip, but he wasn't letting her go anytime soon. She could almost feel her pulse underneath his hand. "Tom you're hurting me." He blinked once, his hold only loosening slightly.

Why was she such an idiot? She should've kept her mouth shut, there was a reason she didn't tell him in the first place. Yet, look at her. A gesture as simple as giving her a rose made Delilah open her stupid mouth.

She took a deep breath, her eyes dancing around the meadow and the sky above them. Anything to give her a distraction from the beautifully intimidating boy in front of her. "The one who masters all three hallows... becomes the Master of Death."

A fire seemed to erupt behind his eyes. Tom's entire demeanor changed, his jaw strained, his eyes became black pools, he seemed to tower over her. The dark aura he usually kept at bay had been unleashed, the monster that it was pressed down on Delilah at all sides. Nearly suffocating her, every breath felt heavy and it was like she was drowning. The air around them became charged with magic and she could faintly hear it cracking. The hair on the back of her neck stood up and her legs went weak. But he was still holding onto her, his grip like an anchor. He hadn't moved an inch.

He looked hungry.

"What do you mean, 'master'?" Tom spoke lowly and watched as her teeth gritted, trying to wrench her arm free.

"Let go of me." Delilah yanked back, and at just the right time, Tom let go. Sending her to the ground rather painfully and she let out a hiss at the log she hit. "What is your problem?" She gasped, looking up at him with wide eyes as she held her arm, the one he'd healed yet harmed straight after. Did he really have such loose control over his temper?

Despite her best efforts, Delilah flinched back as Tom knelt down to be at eye level. She felt something dark and heavy crawl up her neck, as if an invisible hand was caressing it and gradually adding pressure. But his hands remained clasped in front of him.

Still, she wouldn't put it past Tom, he was well versed in wandless magic.

What happened next sent a rage of fear prickling up her back. He was staring intently at her, and Delilah couldn't pull her eyes away from the dark depths. And when that long forgotten, yet familiar, prick to her mind was felt, she scrambled back. Tripping over the log in the process, landing uncomfortably on her back.

He was trying to read her mind. Why in the name of Merlin was he trying to do that? Her breathing grew rapid, on the near verge of hyperventilating, and she tried her best to clear her thoughts.

"If you just tell me, this will be a whole lot easier. And much more pleasant, I assure you." Tom tsk-d, looking down at her with a peculiar glint. Why was she so scared? He could nearly see her pulse beating rapidly in her neck.

"I don't know how you master them." It wasn't a complete lie. Delilah was sure all you had to do was own the invisibility cloak, and in this timeline Harry's grandfather would have it. And legend says you have to win the Elder Wand, which she didn't fully understand.

But the resurrection stone, well, she hadn't the faintest idea where it was or how one 'mastered' it. She just knew what Harry and Hermione told her. Which frankly, wasn't much.

"Lying will get you nowhere." He sighed a bit in annoyance, he wasn't expecting her Occlumency to be this stable. Still, due to her current state her defenses weren't at their full potential. Tom began to stalk forward, and as a result, Delilah scrambled back. Cutting her elbows and palms along the way.

No, she mustn't allow him in. She couldn't. She promised Dumbledore. What if he saw something that would ruin everything?

There was a sudden, sharp pain to her skull and she let out a scream of agitation and fear, not so much of agony. She's lived through worse.

_____________________________________

Draco shoved her through the door, snickering at the annoyed look on her features. "Malfoy you fucking wanker!" Delilah shouted as the door slammed shut.

The pink in the room was nearly blinding. She usually didn't mind the color, but the excessive amount decorating the office was sickening. There was a slight giggle and she whirled around.

"Language my dearie, a girl such as yourself shouldn't dream to use such foul words." Umbridge sat in her chair looking like a bloated toad, mixing her tea slowly. The notion would've been intimidating if it weren't for the countless portraits of cats on plates littering the walls.

Delilah hasn't ever hated a teacher so deeply, not even Snape. Which was saying something. She had gotten a detention for back talking Umbridge. Saying she didn't deserve her respect blindly.

"Sit down." She gestured to the small desk placed next to her own. There was a blank piece of parchment and a long, pointed crimson quill.

Delilah mentally groaned once she realized she would have to do lines. Still, she was expecting worse. Filch usually made her clean the trophy cases till well around two in the morning.

"What will I be writing?" She asked, gazing out the window with a slight sigh. The weather had finally warmed and all she wanted to do was lay out in the grass.

"This is deserved." She said cheerfully,  followed by her oh so annoying giggle. Umbridge stood up from her desk and made a point to stand in front of the window, effectively cutting off Delilah's view. "You haven't given me any ink." She bit, and the woman merely sighed. "You won't be needing any."

"How many times?" Delilah asked, placing the quill to the paper, hoping to get this over with as soon as possible. "I believe you'll know when it's enough."

With an annoyed tick of her jaw, Delilah began to write. After a few seconds there was a sharp sting to her left hand. She paused and flexed her fingers, not thinking much of it before continuing. As she finished the sentence, she knew something was wrong, the ink was crimson.

With a slight hiss, she looked at the top of her left hand and saw the skin had grown red and irritated, and carved into her flesh were the words, 'This is Deserved', in her hand writing. Delilah's eyes slightly widened and she looked up at Umbridge in mild disbelief.

This surely wasn't legal.

"Problem?" She hummed, a pleasant smile on her lips. Delilah set her jaw and shook her head. "None at all."

And she kept writing, clenching her fist and ignoring the blood starting to poor from her deepening wound.

She'd be damned before she gave Umbridge the satisfaction of giving in.

______________________________________

Tom pulled back from the memory with furrowed brows. Delilah laid on the ground, slightly panting and muttering the word "no" over and over again. An absent minded plea for him to stop. He tilted his head to get a better look at her hands and yes- there it was. The scar was faint, but definitely there.

'This is Deserved' with forevermark her skin, and he felt a tick of disdain towards that Umbridge woman.

"Malfoy?" He muttered to himself. He didn't recognize the boy in her memory. But he looked remarkably similar to Abraxas. Perhaps a cousin he didn't know about? He'd ask later.

As intriguing as that memory was, it wasn't what he was looking for.

Delilah was slightly sweating, her chest heaving. It was shame it had to be this way, but it wasn't his fault she was stubborn.

She screamed again when he dove back in, but this time she was slightly more prepared and threw up a defense. Only allowing Tom a glance of a memory.

But as bad luck would have it, it was something slightly useful.

It was one Christmas at Grimmauld Place, and Harry took out his invisibility cloak, throwing it over his shoulders.

Tom stepped back, a sinister smile on his face as he fixed his tie. Yes, that's what he needed. He now knew two things. One, what the cloak looked like. And two, it belonged to this Harry fellow. He racked his brain to see if Delilah ever told him the boys last name but came up short.

He'd have to wait another day for that.

Now he had a bigger problem to deal with, and that was the nearly unconscious blonde at his feet. Delilah was surely livid at him, she barely trusted him enough as is, and this definitely ruined whatever amount she had left in him.

Delilah looked up at him through heavy eyes, rage coursing through every vein in her body. She couldn't believe him. That he'd really invade her privacy in such a way, and so forcefully.

Evil was always spectacular and human.

Delilah was finally willing to let herself see that now.

A beat hit in her chest then, and she couldn't breathe, her hands flew up and clawed at her neck and a silent scream pulled itself from her lips. Her eyes were wide and watering, her chest suddenly convulsing.

Tom stared down at her slightly wide eyed, not expecting such a sudden change to what her body was doing. He's never seen a reaction as severe as this to Legilimency before. She was sweating more profusely and he kneeled down at her side, brushing the hair away from her face.

Her eyes went crystalline and were staring straight ahead, but not seeing. Now he knew something was definitely wrong. "Delilah can you hear me?" He brought out his wand and attempted to run a health diagnostic but nothing was coming up, only that her heart was beating dangerously fast. "What the hell is wrong with you?" He muttered, as well as a few other curses.

Delilah then threw her body forward and started coughing so violently, Tom was worried she'd eventually throw up her lungs. He brushed her hair back from her face and felt a chill run through his hands at how cold she was. He felt a weight fall on his shoulders as he looked at the ground beneath Delilah.

It was blood.

"Delilah?" He said slowly, a hint of worry to his tone, which was new for him. He never worried. Tom leaned forward to finally look at her face, and he felt the blood in his cheeks vanish.

Blood was pooling from her mouth, nose, and it was in her eyes too.

"Merlin." He breathed before getting quickly up to his feet, cradling her to his chest like a babe. She had stopped coughing, but the blood was still running down the sides of her mouth, nose, and eyes.

Typically a sight like this wouldn't disturb him. He's seen his fair share of gruesome scenes. But there was something unnerving about Delilah being in such a state, it disturbed him.

As he quickly ran through the woods, he mentally debated on whether or not to apparate back to the manor. It would by far be quicker, but he didn't think it would help Delilah's current health state.

Her body weight was slowing him down, and with a few string of curses he summoned a stretcher and gently set her down. He then waved his wand and made a direct, clear path. Making sure she was secure, Tom took off in a careful sprint and the stretcher followed him.

When he finally made it back to the manor, he busted through the kitchens entrance. The house elves gasped at the sudden entrance, staring wide eyed at the teen boy and horrid looking girl. With a wave of his hand, Tom cleared a table and set her down gently.

For once, he had no idea what to do. He couldn't fix whatever was happening to her, and that frustrated him beyond belief.

Delilah began to choke on the blood pooling in her mouth and rolled over, spitting it out on the table. "Tom." She gasped, her anger at him completely forgotten for the moment. The pain tearing through her body was nearly blinding.

He placed two hands on her cheeks, her skin feeling like a sheet of ice. He muttered a small spell that sent warmth into his hands, trying his best to direct it into her. She grasped at his hands, holding them tightly, desperate for the warmth.

"Tom," she gasped again. Her eyes were blinking rapidly, and she was having trouble seeing him. Everything looked red.

Tom stared at her, Delilah's eyes looked shockingly blue now that the whites were tinged with blood. "I'm here Delilah," he began, but stopped short. Again, he had no idea what to do.

"Get Dumbledore." And with those two words, she passed out.