Disclaimer:: I don't own the HP universe that this story resigns in. Nor do I own any of the characters in this story as well. They are friends of mine, from an online HP based RPG. I asked with permission to use their character's names and personalities for the story.

I do not own or take credit for the darkness that is true to the being known to the world as Takamaru Riddle. I would never claim him. (Danny, he is all yours, honey!)

"I'd Cut My Hand Off Before Reaching For You Again..."

Takamaru sighed to himself as he wandered throughout the streets of Hogsmeade. It seemed as though it had been quite some time since he had actually strolled these streets. Most likely since his seventh year, at the earliest. He hadn't been in Hogwarts for over ten years now, and hadn't even bothered coming onto the lands, for it didn't interest him as it would other people. Then again, most people weren't wanted dead or alive by the Ministry of Magic. Most people were not being chased by Aurors every waking, and sleeping, moment of their life. Of course, since when was Tak like most people? Even in school, no one wanted to hang around the infamous Takamaru Riddle. He was just the bastard son of Tom Riddle, more commonly known as Voldemort Riddle. No one cared for the boy, other than his aunt, whom he had killed before he finished his second year.

He stopped, looked into the sky, and then sighed, this time it was a noticeable sigh, heard by anyone withing ten feet of him. He hadn't sat and stared into the sky since he was a little boy. Since the time him, and the love of his life had been kids. He shook his head vigorously. He couldn't believe all that had happened in the last few years. He faked his own death, lost the love of his life to his worst enemy, and been expelled from school shortly after returning from the 'dead'. How the stream of events seemed to happen. How they seemed to make his life a living hell, and in turn, he was forced to live it, especially having been cursed with being a Vampire.

He held up his wrist and stared at it. It was scared with past bites he had been forced to plant on himself to keep himself from biting her. To keep himself from biting Jade D'Amour. How he longed to taste her flesh. Longed to feel her blood flow into his mouth, and soak his lips. How he wanted to rip the flesh from her muscles and bone, and taste it. Feel the flesh go limp beneath his fingers.

He stood, swaying in ecstasy at the cloying scent of blood. His desire was so great, it nearly became real. He regretted it hadn't lasted longer. He regretted not being able to enjoy prolonged screams. Screams were rapture. He craved them, needed them, lusted after them. Screams fulfilled him, made him whole. He needed screams, not the actual sound of them—he often gagged his partners—but the attempt at them, and what they represented: terror.

He snorted. Still, he hadn't had what he needed—prolonged terror, the careful cutting, the slicing, the binge of blood, the giving of endless, exquisite pain, the orgy of frenzied stabbing at the end. But the voices from the ethers promised him he would have those things, promised him that he would have the ultimate conquest, the ultimate balance, the ultimate paring. He wanted it. He wanted her dead. Too many times he had reached with his hand for her. Too many times he had tried to be saved for her. Too many times his heart was crushed, his hand burned. He wouldn't do it anymore, and if killing her was the only thing he had to do, then by god he was going to do it, no matter what.

"Excuse me sir, can I help you?" came a soft voice from behind him. He nearly twisted around, and snatched the figures throat, but caught himself in his blood lust, and turned around, his eyes flashing dangerously. There was a woman, probably up to his chin. She was wearing purple and pink robes. Her hat stood almost as tall as he was, giving her the appearance she was taller than she truly was.

"I am in no mood to have someone waste my time trying to help me," he replied, his tone as still as death, "If you value your life, then you will get away now." His eyes flashed to a bright red. She stood there, staring at him, then replied, "Your idle words don't threaten me, boy. I have seen more life than more than you would know. And don't think you can overcome me easily with your dark words, and your deprived soul."

His hand shot forward, speed unlike anything she had ever seen. His fangs revealed themselves, and his eyes were glowing a blood red. He placed his lips next to her ear, "Idle words...I think not." his other hand shot directly forward, having had his finger nails replaced by sharp talon like nails. They drove into the womans stomach, and she made an action as if to scream. Tak's thumb crushed her windpipe, and she was no more able to get out a scream, as she was to get in an inhale. Her eyes stared at his grinning face in horror.

He slid his hand out of her body, which was now gushing blood, and held it before her face. He licked off the blood on one finger, and laughed, then grabbed her neck with the blood covered hand, and released her with his other. He tilted her neck to the side, and then he hovered his mouth above her neck. He inhaled, then exhaled on her neck, so that his cold breath sent a chill down her spine, she twitched trying to breathe, and he bit her. His fangs tore into her flesh as though a blade to paper. He tasted the warm blood as it coursed through her body. He felt strength surge through his muscles. He felt the joy. The lust. She died. He licked his lips, and was consumed by shadows..only to vanish into the night.

---The End---

----Owls and Howlers are Accepted----