Hierarchy of Need [REWRITTEN]

Chapter Two

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  Delilah woke up twenty minutes later, her head pounding and feeling heavier than lead. Groaning as she rolled to the side, soft velvet was underneath her and she let her body weight fall into it. She hadn't felt something this gentle against her skin in what must've been ages.

Nuzzling herself further and letting her muscles relax, a breath barely passed her lips before she shot up. Wand drawn and eyes darting frantically across the room, forgetting where she was for a moment before Dumbledore smiled at her.

Sadly this didn't appear to be some fucked up dream.

The need to cry was strong, but her body refused her. Deep in her subconscious she knew how much she despised it.

Some might consider crying a friend, a way to vent and just let everything go. Delilah however had always felt disgusted afterward. It always felt like an over reaction. Nose running, swollen eyes and raw throat -feeling weak was something she'd like to avoid.

Taking a breath as he made his way over, Dumbledore held a teacup with steam billowing out of the top. The smell of lemongrass and ginger dancing it's way towards her.

"Thank you," her voice was quiet as she carefully took the drink. She couldn't manage to even take a sip, though. Still feeling as if she might puke at any given moment. Nots wound tightly in her stomach to the point it nearly hurt, and before the pain could settle in they'd loosen and she felt woozy.

Something felt... wrong.

"When-" there was a pause, her mind trying to rationalize the situation. "When am I?"

He leaned back in his chair, observing her quietly. The silence felt deafening as she shifted in her seat, the porcelain burning her hands in a way that almost felt comforting and she wanted to scream at him to just say something.

It felt as if he was pealing back every layer, cutting open her skin and trespassing in every place he wasn't welcome.

Shifting her eyes to the corner of his office her breath hitched. Dumbledore followed her gaze and a smile graced his lips, "I take it you know of phoenixes?"

Delilah felt like she should say yes, there was a deep gut feeling she did. There was something. But as she tried to focus there was nothing but fog clouding her mind.

"Not really."

She took note of how he hadn't answered her yet. Perhaps he was prolonging, in hopes she wouldn't faint again. Or blow up, who knows. It was a gamble even to herself.

"Today is the third of September, 1943." He said slowly, knowing she probably wouldn't believe what she was hearing.

Her muscles tensed and the grip she had on the cup made her knuckles grow white, for a moment she thought it might break. For a moment she wanted it to. Maybe the shards of porcelain would cut so deep in her hand it would wake her up.

"1943?" She blinked at Dumbledore, confusion etched into her features. "How-"

He shook his head, "I know nothing of how you got here. If you could enlighten me? Recall whatever you can."

"Well I..." setting down the cup next to her due to her hands shaking, she tried desperately to claw at any information in her head. It was terrifying. Not knowing who she was, not really. It was as if someone had just thrown her to Earth with some lines of a poorly written play stuck in her head and that was it.