Hierarchy of Need [t.r]

Chapter Nine

  Two days after Delilah kissed Elio, he'd made a point to hold her hand whenever he could. He always fought down a shiver, her skin was cold to the touch. 

  Delilah wasn't sure how she felt, she wasn't even sure why she kissed him. It was a fleeting moment, Elio was saying sweet things and the autumn wind was ruffling his curls. She didn't even know if she liked him more than a friend. The kiss wasn't something you'd see in a romantic muggle film. There was no tension, no intense buzz in her ears, or ache in her chest. 

  There was a slight tug in her stomach, so she latched onto that feeling. Whether it be to spare Elio's feelings or hers, she didn't know.

  They kissed here and there, light pecks. Elio was fond of placing a kiss atop her head every morning. He didn't advance forward and take initiative. He'd never been in a relationship before, Elio didn't know if this was even a relationship. It didn't feel like it. They went on one date, which wasn't much. And she kissed him, and they held hands. 

  Delilah would kiss him on the cheek at night, an antithesis of his morning pecks.

  But it was nice. Things were going slow and he didn't mind, everything else in his life moved so quickly he felt he could never firmly grasp it. Images and people would blur, but Delilah was clear and visible. Annoyance was growing towards Tom. He kept pushing, no, it was more like an order. 

  Find more information about her, see if she's hiding anything. Elio wanted to go at his own pace but Tom wasn't letting him.

  He was studying Delilah instead of the board, not caring what Dumbledore was having to say at the moment. He didn't mind the man, though Tom despised him. Dumbledore wasn't thick headed like a majority of the professors, he didn't eat out of Tom's hand, he treated him like anyone else. And that alone was enough to piss Tom off. 

  Because he wasn't like anyone else.

  As Elio looked at her, he felt that breathless delight returning to him. The way the light made her golden hair have different hues. The way her nose would scrunch if she didn't understand something. And every few minutes she'd tug at the skin on her lips. Her hands always seemed to be moving, either messing with her quill, wand, robes, or anything else. Either that or she'd tap her foot in a quick rhythm. Elio noticed she tended to flinch a little. At a sudden sound or quick shadow, her hand would inch towards her wand, but then her shoulders would relax after a moment. Sensing she wasn't in danger.

  What could she be afraid of? Why was she so alert?

  Elio hated Tom for putting these questions in his head. But he was admittedly curious. Whether he liked it or not, Tom was right. Delilah was too guarded, always on edge, she reminded him of Tom. Though she wasn't as good at hiding it. Tom hid his suspicion through graceful steps and chin held high.

 It was off putting to have her birthday arrive all the sudden, it felt wrong and strange. Her birthday had already passed in her time, she'd been seventeen for ten months. But November seventh had arrived in 1943, So was she seventeen or eighteen? Technically, it didn't account for anything. 

  But Delilah felt like a stranger in her own body, trying not to acknowledge the current date. Note, she hadn't celebrated her birthday since she was fourteen. Life had been too hectic and cruel to allow such a break. So she kept her mouth quiet, a feat that was quite easy, but a strange dizziness filled her head.

  "What's on your mind?" Dumbledore asked, leaned back in his chair with his half moon spectacles perched. Delilah blinked, a flush creeping up her neck. She'd forgotten where she was for a moment.