Northern Crown [t.r]

Chapter Three

  Tom thought he had seen pure loathing during the period where Delilah hated him. Maybe she still did, it wouldn't be surprising. He surely thought nothing and no one could surpass that sheer level of resentment.

He was quickly proved wrong.

This was different, the air was thick with the mingled breath of fear and abhorrence. Tom gauged their expressions as he sat quietly, bound painfully to a wooden chair in some drafty room. He tried shifting to the best of his ability, but the ropes strained against his skin with a sharp sting.

Tom supposed it was reasonable. After all, his apparent future self was responsible for the hell they were currently living in. Except now he appeared as nothing but a boy, the same age or younger than half of them.

They had been questioning him for what appeared to be hours. A back part of his mind kept drifting to Delilah, wondering if she was awake and okay. He was partly concerned she'd start bleeding out again, not trusting anyone there to help her properly but himself.

Over time he supposed he's taken on a duty of care for her.

A headache was blooming, the questions being relentless. Kingsley was there and was accompanied by a man with red hair, littered in scars. After a few moments assessing the aged wounds he quickly drew the conclusion it'd been from a werewolf attack.

Curious.

The questions were rather dull in his opinion.

Who are you?

He felt that was obvious.

How did you come into contact with Delilah Meddows?

That one was vaguely complicated.

What do you know of the resistance?

From his perspective they looked like they were losing, which was a tad concerning. They seemed ignorant to the fact, blinded by misplaced optimism. Sure they had hope, but that's anyone. Hope doesn't win wars, despite all those silly little stories parents tell their children about at night.

Do you know who Albus Dumbledore is?

Unfortunately.

Et cetera, et cetera.

Dull.

He answered them swiftly, not having to mull it over considering none of their inquiries dug at any of his underlying motives. He'd leave the task of telling them about their mission involving the Deathly Hallows up to Delilah.

The door opened, only then did Tom notice how silent outside seemed to be. Wards were put up, extensively. Walking in it was Harrison, he was tense but determined and his eyes didn't draw away from Tom.

"Anything?"

"This is a rather tedious situation, we're still treading on where to even begin."

"Can we get Meddows down here?" Bill asked. He seemed young but painfully worn down with stress.

Harrison shook his head, "we'll have to wait a bit longer, Granger said she's still out. There's something wrong with her though-,"

"Perhaps I can enlighten you on the matter?" Tom suddenly spoke, causing the three men to whirl around.

They looked immensely placid at the notion of getting insight from him. Their body language was stiff, guarded, he could see their hands itching to grab their wands and hex him. Kill him even, if they were to be so bold.

Tom needed to navigate this clearly. Somehow he needed to not necessarily gain their trust- that he knew would be impossible given their time crunch- but to at least prove his point where his loyalty lied.