Hierarchy of Need [REWRITTEN]

Chapter Twelve

"Pontmercy?"

Delilah blinked. She couldn't keep up with him. One minute he was about to kill her, threatening her, then acting like she didn't exist. 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 imagined it.

"You've already made plans for the holiday?" He asked.

She nearly shook her head. Delilah felt a 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. 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 to figuring out how to get her memory back, let alone how to get her back home.

Feeling hopeless was a terrible, frightening thing.

She should've felt strong, despite not remembering much she was still alive. She was still here, somehow. Something must've worked out. Yet, as she sat there she began to feel hollow.

It weighed her down into the bed, Delilah was overwhelmed with the urge to 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. Start from scratch and build a new life, unburdened from whatever she had forgotten.

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.

Her 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. 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 on a rare occasion.

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 judgment 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." The answer was simple enough to be true, so she assumed it must've been.

"You feel disgusted with yourself, do you not?"

Delilah hummed, still feeling like her heart had been carved out of her and she merely shrugged. "Not particularly, no." Of course she didn't mean to almost kill him, but he was fine now.

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.

"Good. You shouldn't be." He was talking softly, his usual harsh conviction absent.

Delilah shook her head and stretched 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 but she still just... didn't mind.