Running her fingers along the quills edge, the fibers of the worn feather caressed and curved around her digits, it nearly tickled her. Mainly, it was a distraction.

Delilah couldn't stop thinking about that strange Hufflepuff girl, the one with the Sight. Who she was, was still unknown. Delilah had gone around asking as discreetly as possible, but she came up short. How could the girl just not exist? At each meal Delilah searched the tables; nothing.

Currently, she couldn't afford to dwell on the girls message. She couldn't allow herself to, home is what she needed to focus on.

Twirling her necklace, dark blue eyes turned towards the windows. Watching how the soft spring air rattled the distant trees in the forbidden forest, how some creatures ventured closer to the school, and how the skies seemed more clear and blue than ever.

What will she tell everyone when she gets back?

When will she be getting back?

With the time turner, Delilah could could go back to the exact moment she left. However, that would put her in the Ministry, completely vulnerable to Voldemort. If she sprang up alive, she was sure Voldemort wouldn't be pleased. For someone who's so good at killing, he seems to fail at murdering those he wants dead the most.

Like Harry, for example.

And herself.

Perhaps she could go a little bit before she 'died' and wait out in some empty office until her past self is sent to the forties.

Or she can travel a day or two after?

Delilah hadn't the faintest clue what she would do once she was able to see her friends and family again. Currently, she was so accustomed to life in forties Hogwarts. Surrounded by her new friends, going to classes, being somewhat normal yet out of tune all at once.

Being a proper teen again was elating.

Not having to be on the run or constantly looking over her shoulder, nor worrying about when she can eat again, or if the floor is too stiff to sleep on. Not having to ponder if death was only minutes away.

And Merlin, the countless hours she'd stay up listening to the Potterwatch. Her whole body rigid as they began to read the names of the newly deceased, hoping and praying no one she knew was proclaimed dead.

Those hours were always the worst.

Had she been pronounced dead?

Shaking her head, Delilah looked down at her textbook. She'd been looking at the same page for nearly twenty minutes.

Once she got the time turner, she could go back whenever she pleased. With that lovely contraption, she had all of time at her fingertips, waiting to be bent for her needs and obey every command.

Would it be selfish if she stayed a bit longer?

The moment the thought occurred to mind, Delilah pinched her arm so hard blood was drawn.

Yes, it'd be beyond selfish and utterly idiotic.

Besides the obvious gluttony she was eyeing and having her own bed, what other reasons did she have to stay?

A familiar set of coffee colored dark eyes popped into her head and she slapped herself lightly on the cheek, earning a few curious glances from her peers.

An awkward smile tugged at her lips as she raised a heavy hand to flip the page.

No.

He's not a reason to stay, he's every reason she should be leaving.

_________________________________

Stepping through the doorway to Potions took much more effort than needed. The curved stone archway seemed more daunting than usual, something in her gut was telling her to turn around skip class.

Before she could, an arm was thrown over her shoulder. "You're blocking up the door, sweetheart."

Glaring halfheartedly at the raven haired boy, her and Pyrrhus moved their way into the dreaded classroom.

They sat in their usual seats. Delilah next to Elio, Abraxas and Tom across the table. She really should move seats, but that would look by far too petty. As well as raise some unwanted questions by too curious classmates.

Once everyone was settled, Slughorn clapped his hands and beamed at them all. His eyes lingering a bit longer on Tom, his hopeful minister in the making.

"Afternoon, my dear students!" He bellowed, his voice bouncing off the stone curved walls, weaving its way between glass ingredients bottles. It sent a low hum reverberating through the room.

"Now, since finals are upon us, I thought we'd do something a bit challenging yet still fun! After all, I want you to enjoy yourself and be as least stressed as possible."

Everyone eyed each other, but only got shrugs in return. Delilah felt her own curiosity peak. How could Potions be fun? Unless he was about to let them blow something up. That put a light smile on her lips as she thought of Seamus.

"Amortentia."

A collective groan sounded from the room and Slughorn waved them off passively, "can anyone tell me about love potions?"

Surprisingly, Cain raised his hand. "They're brews, which cause the drinker to become infatuated or obsessed with the person who gave it to them. Love potions are considered to be powerful and highly dangerous. Amortentia is the most powerful love potion in existence."

"Correct, five points to Slytherin. Powerful infatuations can be induced by the skilful potioneer, but never yet has anyone managed to create the truly unbreakable, eternal, unconditional attachment that alone can be called love." He looked at all of them pointedly, to address this potion wasn't an easy fix for teenagers suffering from unreciprocated feelings.

"Can anyone tell me the effects of this potion in particular?"

A red headed Ravenclaw raised her hand and Slughorn gestured for her to speak. "It has a different aroma for everyone who smells it, reminding each person of the things that they find most attractive, even if the person doesn't acknowledge or is unaware of their fondness for the object of their affection themselves."

"Five points to Ravenclaw, any side effects?"

Olive spoke without raising her hand, "embarrassment on part of the drinker and the effects only last about twenty four hours."

"Another five points to Slytherin. Now, get to work! Oh, and this is individual today! You can't pair up on exam day."

With a roll of her eyes, Delilah turned to Elio but he was already up and out of his seat. "Yes, I'll get you ingredients."

"You're the best." Offering him a tired smile, she turned and rested her elbows on the table and her chin in her palms. She didn't know why she felt so drained, both mentally and physically.

Rubbing at her eyes, Delilah watched as Tom stood up and started to prepare his cauldron. Right, she should probably do that.

He watched her out of the corner of his eye, she got up slowly but then froze and seemed to sway a bit, her hands gripped the desk and she squeezed her eyes shut.

"Alright, Pontmercy?"

Shaking her head, Delilah got to work and nodded, "stood up too fast, just a bit dizzy." Elio came back and set her things down before starting on his own potion, she muttered a 'thank you' and got to work.

However, her actions halted for a moment as Tom's voice cut through the air. But it was quiet enough so only she could hear.

"How are you so passive about death?"

Sighing through her nose, Delilah should've known that conversation from a few days ago wouldn't be so easily forgotten. She wished it would be though, she was being an idiot. She could've ruined everything. And holding his hand? Really?

All she gave him was a shrug, "same as anyone. Why are you so passive about- well, anything? Sometimes you're like a statue."

There was a few minutes of silence as they worked, but with a few glances Delilah could tell he was mulling over how to answer. This was mostly given away by the fact he was biting his cheek. A habit she herself picked up.

"Time is not a strict progression. Everything that has already happened, or will happen, is happening right now as we speak."

Raising a brow at him, Delilah urged him to continue with a wave of her hand and he seemed to relax a bit. Glad to have a moment to rant about something he found fascinating.

In that moment she realized something, Tom rarely ever had the chance to do that. Sure, he talked, and people listened. But they only listened to what they would expect from him, and Tom knew this. So he'd say what they wanted to hear.

Delilah was different, she listened. To him, to the thoughts that poured from his brain and shot out of his mouth. She was also one of the only people he knew who could comprehend it. Tom found that exciting.

"Everything in all of creation is happening all at once. That's why time travel is possible, you just pick a point and shift through the timeline. Except it's not a line, not a straight one at least. Think of time as more of a sphere with no visible end. A sphere so vast, no one knows how wide the diameter is or how big the volume."

There was an shine of childish delight to his eyes in that moment, and it was wonderful. Delilah couldn't stop staring at him.

"So if you live by the notion every series of events is happening as you speak, nothing will surprise you," he looked at Delilah as he tossed in an ingredient. She surprises him though, constantly.

"Except death of course. That's where the sphere closes off. But you're still technically inside, somewhere. Death is what's outside, that's the unknown. Does time still exist in the afterlife? Is there even an afterlife? There's too many different  beliefs for fact."

Delilah bit her own cheek as she gazed at him. He was terrified.

Tom was just a boy who didn't like endings.

Death outlives everyone who's ever walked the earth, there was no point in trying to outrun it. But saying that to Tom would prove to be fruitless, he wouldn't listen. His fear had him in over drive.

"Again, though. If you live by expecting every outcome, you'll always be prepared."

Mulling it over for a moment, Delilah shrugged. "Seems dull."

"Yes, you would think that."

She glared at him before turning her attention back to her potion, it was slowly starting to come together. A sheen started to film over the top, but it wasn't quite the mother of pearl look Slughorn would accept. Not from her at least. Her nose then twitched and there was a faint smell of what could be fire. Or wood, perhaps both? Burning wood, maybe?

It was probably just the flames under her cauldron, so she dismissed the incessant fragrance.

"Question," Delilah suddenly blurted.

He raised a brow but didn't turn his eyes away from his work, gesturing for her to continue with his pestle.

"Why are you blood prejudice? Considering," she knew the fact that he was a half-blood was a secret he would take to the grave. Though his future self was determined to never have one in the first place. Nonetheless, she couldn't wrap her head around it.

She knew he was prejudiced, that speech he gave her all those months ago was bullshit.

A quote from Voltaire popped into her mind that seemed to sum up Tom quite appropriately, "The man visited by ecstasies and visions, who takes dreams for realities, is an enthusiast. The man who supports his madness with murder is a fanatic."

You don't start a whole blood thirsty fanatical movement simply to protect yourself. However, it is a cover. And a damn good one, at that.

She now also knew that he was a descendant of Salazar Slytherin, but that wasn't an excuse. Tom was an actor who's been playing a part of a pureblood for so long, he probably genuinely thought he was. Character and actor muddled together and became one.

"Pardon?" He was partly distracted as he crinkled his nose, a smell of dust mixed with rain was assaulting him.

Delilah shrugged one shoulder as she let some rose petals fall into the potion, the vibrant red from the dried flower seemed to soak into the liquid, swirling and giving it a pink hue. "Take me for example, I'm a witch."

"Yes, you are."

"Let me finish," pointing her knife at him, Tom raised a finger and gently pushed the blade away from his face. Must she be so reckless?

"I can preform incredible magic, magic some people haven't even heard of. Yet because my blood isn't 'pure' some believe I don't even deserve to be called a witch. Which is fucking ridiculous, I could beat any of their asses in a duel even on a bad day."

Tom found his lips to be tilted up slightly and he shook his head, sprinkling some powered moon stone into his cauldron. His amusement dropped when he saw her own features turn more solemn, her eyes down cast and a small frown to her lips.

An echo of her own screaming was bouncing around inside her head, all those months of torture were being brought back to life. Delilah remembered why she was treated like the scum of the earth. The scars on her back made their presence known in that moment, they began to almost itch and she rolled her shoulders.

The smell of parchment broke her out of her trance and she blinked away the troubled memory. "I see no moral, logical, or justifiable reason I should be robbed of my magic."

A brush of air passed through his lips as he stirred, the golden gleam of her hair shining impertinently in his peripheral vision. In total, he knew blood prejudice was a tad ridiculous. The wizarding population would've died out long ago if it weren't for muggles.

However, he couldn't help the involuntary hatred he felt towards his father and the other muggles who treated him so poorly at the orphanage. All because he was different; he either didn't speak enough, or when he did the adults didn't like what he had to say. Tom was too self aware for their liking, so of course they sought out to fix that.

He himself was a half blood, yet he was top of his class, and more gifted than half of his professors. He could probably out duel the Minister if he should be so inclined.

Then there was Delilah, one of the most skilled magical persons he's ever had the luck of meeting. He'd be damned before she was considered lesser, or stripped of her title as a witch.

He would never say that out loud, his pride wouldn't physically allow him to. Instead something much different left his lips.

"If it would make you feel any better, I consider you at least above average."

She raised a brow at him and half heartedly threw in some rose thorns. "Was that your half-assed attempt at a compliment?"

"Take it or leave it, Delilah."

As a shimmering fog started to accumulate on top of her potion, she couldn't help but wonder what Tom would smell. Would he even smell anything at all? Knowing what he becomes, Delilah couldn't picture him loving, let alone liking, anything. Is he even capable?

Unless evil has a fragrance.

She snickered at her own joke but her whole body suddenly turned rigid to the point where her back ached. An incredibly strong waft of cigarettes hit her nose.

Please by all the stars no.

Tom looked at her curiously, about to open his mouth and make a smart ass comment to tease her considering her expression. He was going to make a joke about her smelling Slughorn' pungent cologne. However, he himself turned to stone as a wave of peppermint assaulted his nose.

He nearly felt dizzy.

His eyes slowly dragged from Delilah to his cauldron. He didn't understand, he couldn't. Tom didn't exactly know what he was going to smell when Slughorn assigned this potion, but he definitely wasn't expecting for it to be her.

Again, Tom's brilliant mind just couldn't seem to comprehend what was happening. The only thing running through his mind in a frenzy was 'why?'

Yes, he could admit she wasn't too awful to look at, but- just, why?

Without a thought, Tom raised his wand and cleared out his cauldron.

It was fruitless, the smell was still everywhere, swirling around him as if he was underwater, the air felt heavier yet he was involuntarily breathing in deeper, despite how light headed it was making him feel. Her fragrance was emitting from every cauldron in the room, it felt as if he was drowning. Part of him didn't mind, but the other half was panicking. Tom never panicked.

Then the wave of a sea in a storm hit him, combined with the peppermint and petrichor, it was probably one of the most seductive scents Tom had ever inhaled. He felt himself breathing more slowly and deeply, the fumes filling him up in a moment of delight.

Delilah blinked out of her trance when she heard Slughorn give a short wail as he stood next to Tom, staring down at the boys empty cauldron before he had the chance to see what wonderful job his favorite student did.

She didn't want to look at him, she couldn't bring herself to. Delilah already felt awful enough that she found him physically attractive, but for him to be the one she smelt in a love potion? What was wrong with her? She was definitely going to hell.

Finally, she mustered up what little courage she had and looked up from her cauldron. She was met with a peculiar sight.

Tom had paled, his cheeks completely void of color, and he was acting a bit twitchy. He was also looking in any other direction but at her, instead his eyes were slightly wide and moving around frantically, looking at each cauldron in the room as if they were offending him.

She wanted to as what he smelt, but she knew if he asked her the same question she would die before telling him. That would put his ego into over drive for years.

The two were both so caught up in drowning in each other's fragrance, absentmindedly breathing in deeper, yet they were completely unaware of the notion it was each other they were smelling. They were also unaware of the eyes on them.

Some girls and a few select guys were not so subtly gazing at Tom, their eyes clouded over due to the potion.

Delilah herself was completely oblivious to the pale green eyes stuck to the side of her face.

She kept telling herself this didn't mean anything, it was merely feeble attraction, not relating to love. It can't be. If she kept telling herself that, it had to be true. The mind was a powerful thing, but it could also be like a nasty disease. Making her doubt everything occurring to her in that moment.

But the heart was deadly.

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Please VOTE & COMMENT if you enjoyed!!!

So school started two weeks ago and now I'm officially a senior!! Ah! Anyway, in English this past week we were reading poems by Sylvia Plath, and we had to write a poem following similar structure to one of hers about a book we've read, so of course I wrote a poem about Tom Riddle.

"Hidden Fragment"

I am cold and heavy. I'm overwhelmed by         indifference.
It's simply fact, unconcerned by admiration or discontent.
I am not brutal, but realistic -
The robes of a scholar, fine silk.
It may be a part of my heart. But it vanishes.
Light and ignorance divide us incessantly.

It infests my soul for asylum.
Then it becomes animalistic, carving away my remorse.
I am vital for its survival. It envelopes and possesses.
Each day there's a swell that replaces humanity.
In myself I have drowned innocence, and in me a
Creature rises from an echo, like a repressed nightmare.

Also, I created a fun little board and playlist for Tom and Delilah!!