Northern Crown [t.r]

Chapter Fifteen

  They landed with their full body weight slamming into the ground, the earth tilting at dangerous angles as Delilah's vision swam and she clutched onto Tom's arm.

  The air was heavy with moisture, and as she looked up to the sky gray clouds littered her vision. It must've just rained, given her shoes were also sinking a bit into the ground. Part of her was almost giddy to go back to the forties.

  She felt like she belonged there.

  "Well, one step closer to home." Tom said dryly, looking down at his leather shoes in disgust as mud caked the sides.

  "Don't tell me you were homesick this entire time," she stated as she began to make the trek through the forest.

  Tom scoffed, though fell silent in a moment of thought. He surely preferred his time to the nineties. But being homesick felt dramatic. "Yes, I was just aching to get back to Malfoy and Lestrange. What on earth would I ever do without them."

  Delilah smiled at him over her shoulder, "I'm so happy you were finally able to admit it."

  His eyes narrowed, "shut up."

  They fell into a comforting silence after a while, the only sound meeting their ears was the snap of branches or crunches of fallen leaves.

  Tom's mind was far less quiet however, his head was racing with what all there was to do. Not only there in the forties, but in the future. He hoped Harry was one to keep true to his word, and hoped the boy did have, or at least would develop, a stomach for murder. Harry had to kill Voldemort, there was no skipping that step.

  And he had to kill Grindelwald.

  He couldn't help the slight thrill to the notion. Sure, he's killed people before, but they were no one. Not really. His eyes turned to Delilah, knowing she'd lose her mind if she knew he thought that. But he couldn't help it, no matter what she thought or expected of him, he knew he really didn't care about the lives he's taken. He didn't care then, why care now?

  Gellert Grindelwald, though. A wizard of legend, and to have his blood spilled by Tom's hand... It was an ecstatic thought.

  "So," Delilah stopped once they came to a clearing and Tom stood at her side. Her eyes trailed down to his hand, admiring the piece for a moment before talking. "You've really had it this entire time?"

  He lifted his hand and looked at the ring as well, watching how it caught in the light. "Apparently, though I must admit I feel incredibly dull for the late recognition. I should've known... or sensed it, I don't know. I hate feeling stupid." Tom looked at her then, a cocky grin on his lips. "That's your job."

  "Shut up," she bit as she punched him in the arm. Delilah knew she was smart, but even she could admit she was infuriatingly slow at times. "How'd you come across that thing anyway?"

  He tensed for a moment, "it's a family heirloom."

  "Yeah I got that bit, and not to be crude but you grew up an orphan."

  "Would there be any success in telling you it's none of your business?"

  "No."

  "Or lying to you?"

  "Nope."

  "You're impossible."

  "Thank you, now spill."

  Tom watched her for a moment, considering as he twisted it around his finger. Memories of the event flashing behind his eyes and Delilah shrunk back a bit at the demeanor change.

  "I killed them all."

  She appeared to stop moving, everything about her seemed to freeze. Even her breathing. Maybe her heart too, before everything shot forward in motion again. She turned away from him and wrapped her arms around herself, staring intently at a small body of water a few paces away from them.

  Delilah didn't know what to think, or feel, really. She knew this information already, or at least a vague history reading of it. She knew who he was, and who he became. So why did it feel like a shock?

  It was like every cell in her body was constantly fighting against her over this. Over him.

  He's done terrible things. She's not so deep in denial to know he's by no means a great person. He's a murderer.

  What is wrong with her?

  "I don't know what to say."

 "You don't have to say anything."

  "I should be running away from you screaming."

  "Technically you already did that bit when you found out who I was, so I think you're covered."

  "You're horrible."

  "I am."

  She gnawed at her lip and finally looked at him. He had changed, she knew that. But some part of her felt that wasn't enough. That he had to be held accountable. But by who? She sure as hell wouldn't be able to do it. And she knew he didn't care. Empathy for his family died along with his mother.

  "Do you regret it?"

  "Do you really want to hear my answer to that?"

  She turned away again, "I don't know."

  This conversation felt like a brick wall.

  "Has the ring done anything weird? I mean you're carrying around one of the Hallows, it must have done something in all those years you've had it."

  His jaw clenched, debating on whether or not to tell her when there was a noise suddenly echoing around them.

  Whispers.

  It was nearly deafening.

  "Tom we should–"

  They were suddenly swarmed by black fog, forms ripping past them in the pitch dark with voices louder than ever.

  Delilah couldn't see or hear anything over the noise. Not even her own voice as she tried calling out to Tom. The fog almost felt like sand against her skin as forms ripped past her, tearing into her skin and eventually one ran right into her, knocking her right to the ground.

  It didn't last long, she hardly had any time to get her wits about her when she was picked off the floor and slammed into a tree, pain shooting up her spine and into her head immediately. Her ears were ringing and she hardly registered the whispers had stopped and the black fog settled into the shape of people.

  Her vision was still swimming as her eyes landed on the last person she ever wanted to see.

  "My my, what a prize we have here," his voice was sinister.

  Tom had also been thrown to the ground, but he also got up as quickly as he could and had his wand out at the ready. He shook his head to get rid of the dizziness and felt something warm start to trickle down his forehead.

  Everything felt eerily silent, and not to mention empty.

  "Delilah!--"

  A blade was suddenly at his throat.

  He took a small moment to calm his breathing before easily ripping the knife away from him, almost like it was placed there in a jest.

  The moment he turned around his vision went red.

  "You."

  "You," Bellatrix mocked.

  "I must admit I'm a bit impressed to see you're standing," his voice a low hum, the anger of it though was nearly deafening.

  "My lord takes great care of me."

  "Oh I bet he does, what's a master without a hound dog."

  Her eyes narrowed, her hand clenching her wand as the other held her knife. "Who are you?"

  Tom's grin was sinister, "you're going to find out very soon."