Hierarchy of Need [t.r]

Chapter Twenty Two

"I know the name," Tom said carefully, watching as she downed yet another glass of alcohol. Delilah reached for the bottle and filled the cup, raising a brow at him to continue. Rolling his eyes, his sipped his whiskey more leisurely, "but I don't know who they are."

"Really?" She hummed, resting her elbows on her knees as she observed him critically, trying to read him. Though why she even tried was questionable, Tom Riddle was never easy to read. "I don't believe you."

Sighing slightly through his parted lips, he downed his own glass before nipping the bottle from her fingers to refill it. "Well that's a shame, would you like to look inside my head to see if I'm lying?" He nearly laughed when she perked up at the suggestion.

"That was a joke, Pontmercy."

"You don't joke," Delilah said flatly, a warmness was spreading through her chest, shooting up into her head and down into her stomach. "Would it make you feel better if I said I was a part of this little society or what not?" His eyes seemed to latch onto her blue ones, making the rest of the room spin, but Tom alone remaining in focus.

Shaking her head, Delilah took another drink as she pondered over his question. "No, no it wouldn't make me feel better." Grabbing her wand, she made a couple of ice cubes fall into her glass before pouring some more whiskey. She wasn't thinking straight, the heat of the fire and the boy next to her were making everything feel fuzzy.

"In fact," she waved the bottle at him lazily, the liquid sloshing inside with her movement. "I'd probably kill you in a very creative way if it turns out you were involved."

"Oh, you would?" He lounged back on the couch, draping one arm over the back, his eyes trailed along her pale legs.

Delilah didn't seem to notice as she continued to ramble, "yes I would. Though I wouldn't be happy about it, I like you, though only sometimes. Killing people takes a certain preparation," her words weren't slurred, but her accent was bending a bit.

Tom bit at his cheek and tilted his head, "what would you know about killing someone?" Flashbacks of the night he killed his father rang in his mind, but he shook his head and trained his focus on the blonde in front of him. Delilah shrugged halfheartedly, her own mind going back to the faceless Death Eaters she's killed in order to save her own skin.

"I know you have to mean it."

He leaned forward, resting an elbow on his knee while his free hand ran through his hair. Delilah shrunk into the chair at the look he was giving her, he was holding nothing back from his gaze like he always did.

He seemed shocked.

And he was. Tom was suddenly seeing her in an entirely new light. "Delilah have you used the killing curse?" He watched as she rubbed at her nose before downing her drink, he should probably take the bottle away from her soon.

"Yeah," she said it so simply and he raised a brow. Rolling her eyes, she snatched the bottle from him and began to pour another glass, an idiotic move on her part. "Why?" He pressed, to hell with tiptoeing around the question.

"We're in a war, it was either my life or theirs." Delilah may be nearing the edge of drunkenness but she wasn't completely out of her wits. She kept her response vague enough, though it was a bit depressing for her to think about how time was repeating itself.

She left one war just to be greeted by another.

"Were Grindelwald's men after you?" Tom said after a moment, finishing his whiskey and setting the glass down in order to control his temptation to pour another one.

"Not me specifically, but I was in their way."

He didn't believe her but didn't want to press, seeing as he successfully diverted the conversation away from the Knights of Walpurgis. He'd have to speak to the boys about being more careful.