DISCLAIMER: We own nothing, accept, Aja, who owns Jereth.

This chapter was written by (in order of appearance):

June, ProFool, Half-N-Half

CHAPTER ONE : AUGUST 1942

It was late in the summer. Tom Riddle, fifteen, lay awake in bed. He was a tall, thin boy with thick black hair and a very pale complexion. He was a handsome boy, a fact that worked to his advantage on more than one occasion.

Red lights filtered in through the blinds as patrol cars drove down the street, glinting on the shiny piece of silver that rested at the front of Tom's nightstand. It was a pin, no larger than a one-pound coin, and polished beyond excess. On it was embossed the letter "P".

Prefect

He'd stared at the pin the whole first hour after lights out, but it had lost its draw for him. It was just a symbol of what he'd always known: he was superior.

The pale boy's gaze no longer rested on the pin. Now he was staring at the door at the far end of the boys' room. It was shut, but not locked. There wasn't a lock on the door, a source of great irritation for Tom. He had a difficult time sleeping. He was always staring at the hole in the wood door where there had once been a dead bolt, watching shadows pass by as the Nuns went to and fro in the night. He didn't mind it when he could see the shadows pass. To him each shadow was an opponent. When the hall light was on, and he could see the shadows, he could be ready for an enemy's entrance. When the hall light was turned off, which it always, eventually was, the only thing left to warn him was the sound of footsteps in the hall, and every creaking of floorboards sent a jolt down his spine.

England was at war. He'd seen what that war had done. The neighborhood in which he lived, in which resided the St. Mary's Orphanage had been evacuated more than once. It was easy to lose oneself in the mobs, even for one so elevated as he. The stink and grit of the masses was enough to make him vomit. It was overpowering, the mindlessness of humanity. He feared it. Perhaps irrationally.

But what he feared more than the catching ill of the Muggles was the bombs that threatened to drop every day. He, rationally, shouldn't have feared them, as there was really nothing any muggle devices could do to destroy him. He was too powerful to be dragged to that depth, but he had a weakness, he could see it in himself, in everyone: sleep.

Sooner or later everyone had to sleep. It was a mark of mortality, a sign that slowly he was walking down into the grave.

Every time he closed his eyes he felt he became vulnerable.

He spent his days searching for ways to prevent the terror of his nights. He brewed anti-sleeping potions, and searched constantly for defense spells he could cast over his bed, but the ones that were simple enough to go undetected by the Ministry were usually weak and therefore useless. So he delved deeper into the one type of magic he knew the Ministry couldn't trace. Dark magic. He found his way to Knock Turn Alley every day, to the book shop Grimm, and he read and searched for every possible way to make peaceful sleep possible, but having no way of testing out the spells he found he lay awake each night in distrust, waiting for the bomb to drop, one thought running through his head.

I have value.

If everyone else in the orphanage died it wouldn't matter so long as he survived.

Avitus sighed looking at all the books splayed across his desk. The majority of them he'd barrowed from muggle studies, a subject that he abhorred, but which definitely needed looking into.

The muggles had started a war and like it or not the wizarding world would be involved. The air raids on Britain paid a cruel testimony to this. The book Avitus had stopped on was a huge catalog of guns. He couldn't figure out why they needed so many different types that all did the same thing. They all killed regardless of muggle or wizard heritage and they all used bullets made of metal.

Avitus rolled his old worn-out chair back to one of the many shelves in his classroom. Without looking he pulled an old hardcover from the shelf and cracked it open. He thumbed through it to a page on repelling metal tipped arrows. This would be a start, but the muggle's seemed to excel at finding new ways to mangle and destroy each other and whatever poor wizard got caught in the crossfire. Avitus smirked for a second, maybe he'd get lucky and one of the muggles would come up with a big enough bomb to wipe all the other muggles off the face of the earth. Then he thought maybe I should start with finding a spell to repel bombs and work my way down to bullets. . .

Late summer found Dumbledore walking the streets of London, his young ward of thirteen in tow. The two of them must have made a very odd spectacle: Dumbledore, tall and thin with graying hair and beard, his spectacles half-moons, his slender figure, built to wear robes, fit awkwardly into a brown muggle suit, and Hagrid, even taller and built like a tank, crammed into trousers and a shirt that appeared to be several sizes too small.

Dumbledore smiled, as passers by stopped and stared at the two, and in attempt to brighten poor Hagrid's mood clapped him on the back and, feigning shock-horror, pointed at perfectly ordinary citizens as though they had large pulsating red high beams on their foreheads. Hagrid, gloomy since the death of his father and feeling very self-conscious, was not amused.

Ah, well.

They turned into a grubby little pub who's hanging sign read "The Leaky Cauldron," and made their way through the crowds out into the back alley, where Dumbledore tapped on a few bricks with his wand and the wall slid away to make a large opening.

Diagon Alley.

They passed the owl emporium and Dumbledore watched the considerable change in the boy's demeanor as his head turned to watch the creatures move. He smiled.

When they arrived at the Book shop Hagrid began to stop and turn, but Dumbledore shook his head with a twinkle in his eye and said, "come on then boy, we've more important things to buy."

Hagrid looked at him questioningly, but Dumbledore just smiled and looked ahead. It wasn't long before Hagrid knew exactly where Dumbledore was taking him. The magical creature store.

"An early birthday present is in order, I think," Dumbledore smiled, leading the boy into the shop. Hagrid was instantly attracted to everything at once. His eyes moved from cage to cage staring hungrily at this and that. Which one? Which one?

"Now," Dumbledore said with a frown, "I know you'll want to buy everything in the shop, but I'm afraid I've only enough for one, and I've already made the selection. Before I can give it to you though, I have to tell you some thing. This creature is classified as dangerous and most wizards your age shouldn't be allowed to have one, but I trust you, and I think you'll... enjoy it."

Hagrid stared, his eyes wide, his jaw dropped.

"Are you up to the challenge?"

Hagrid nodded fervently.

"Well then," Dumbledore made his way to the front, and the woman recognized him instantly. She reached under the counter and lifted up something large and glittering.

"It's a fire crab. Had to get a special license..."

Hagrid was delighted.

"Jereth?" The manager of Grimm's Books called, knowing that whenever his boss's son disappeared it lead to trouble.

"Yes?" Jereth responded in a singsong voice from behind a stack of books.

The shop keeper looked around trying to pinpoint where the voice had come from. "What are you doing?" He asked trying to sound conversational while wishing he could ring the bloody git's neck.

"Have ya ever heard of a muggle invention called dominoes?" Jereth asked as he continued making a trail of books around the shop.

"No," The shop keeper replied, "enlighten me."

Jereth shrugged, "Okay." He laughed tipping over the first book.

As books began tumbling over throughout the shop its manager realized that 'dominoes' was a very wicked thing. "Blast boy, this'll take years to clean up!" The shop keeper shouted as the last stack of books toppled over revealing a rather smug young man.

"Yeah," Jereth sighed kicking over a pile of books, "that's the problem with muggle stuff. It takes them forever to set things up, when its so easy to knock them down."

It took everything the shop keeper had to restrain himself from smacking the kid. "Why don't you go see if your little friends have arrived yet." He said with difficulty.

"I'm sure they'll come by here eventually." Jereth replied smoothly, as he sat down on the edge of the sales counter. "I'll just stay here and watch you clean up." The boy said with a wicked smile as he fetched up a random book on Death Omens.

Tom walked with a quick but steady pace, his head straightforward, his eyes unseeing, his face gaunt, as though he hadn't eaten in several days. His eyes were bloodshot. He hadn't slept. A letter was sitting, folded tight in his pocket, the paper creased deep as though it had been folded and unfolded over and over again. It was a short letter, to the point.

Tom,

I'll be in town tomorrow. Meet me outside Grimm's?

-Acacia

For the first time all summer he felt self conscious, crossing though the leaky cauldron in his shabby muggle clothes. As he crossed into the alley out back he chanced to remove his wand from his pocket, and point it at himself whispering what few transfiguration spells he knew that would aide his predicament. He figured that it would be impossible for the ministry to trace his doing magic in such close proximity to so many wizards, and besides, he would be far away in a few minutes.

As the spells took their effect his shabby, gray jumper became the pinstripe robes of a gentleman, and his faded trousers like new. He wasn't one for fashion; he had no taste for it. Clothes were simply clothes, but women required some... visual reminder of greatness. The clothes made the man, or so it seemed.

He walked briskly though the opening that appeared in the brick wall and made his way down Knock Turn Alley where the sun ceased to shine and the world became black with soot from ages of fire and sin. Tom moved quickly, praying the soot wouldn't dirty his magically glossy wing tips.

And then she was there. Just ahead of him. A vision of beautiful silken skin.

She smiled when he came into view. She always had.

He approached, allowing a small smile to play across his lips. She would like the reminder. And when he was before her he put a hand on her chin and kissed her swiftly on the lips.

"Then how was your summer, Ace?" he asked, smirking at the fluster she tried to conceal.

Acacia grinned at Tom's forwardness and leaned against the wall of the bookstore.

"A bit boring actually, my parents didn't want to do anything." she brushed a strand of blond hair out of her face, "I was made a Prefect though," She pulled out a shiny silver badge, "Were you?"

Tom smiled as though her asking was a joke, "of course."

He looked her over possessively.

"You've changed," he said after a long pause, putting out a hand to touch her white cheek.

Acacia closed her eyes at his touch, "People change over the summer I guess."

She opened her eyes and looked him over. "You've changed too," She smiled, thinking for a moment, "Your taller."

No emotion met his face as he stared at her, her words washing over him like a warm breeze. He felt nothing. Slowly he nodded.

"Gotten your supplies then?"

"Yeah, my parents have the house elf toting my bags somewhere."

She met Tom's gaze and let a small smile play across her lips.

"How about you? How long have you been here?"

"Just a few minutes," he admitted, then quickly changing the subject said, "I've got some things to show you."

He took her by the wrist and led her into the bookshop.

There was a section far in the back reserved for books written about the mystery of death. He took a book out and flipped it open to page nine hundred and thirteen, pointed out a paragraph and had her read.

Since the beginning of time it is a question that has plagued us, why do men die. Death is something that, to many, seems to mortal a fate for Wizard kind, yet every wizard at some point dies. Few known paths to immortality exist. Two are the more predominant: Unicorn's blood, and the Elixir of Life. The first coming from something pure and good but being itself evil, and the second coming from something renownly dark but being itself pure and perfect. Unfortunately neither is an actual way to ensure death will not occur. Each wears off at some point if you do not continue to drink, and once the well runs dry all hope for survival is gone.

It is believed that in ancient times, before the dirtying of Wizard lines lifelines ran longer than they now do. It is also believed that before the dirtying of wizardry itself there were ways of causing death to cease.

In the ancient times of wizarding school Hogwarts, before Salazar Slytherin's departure, there were ways for the truly skilled wizard to retain life. Stories of such lives are still found in ancient texts in Russia (where Slytherin was believed to spend the last of his days). The process to becoming immortal was a long one, which one had to begin at a very early age. Slytherin himself had found the key but was too old to make his dreams a reality. In his dying memoirs he spoke of a path to Deitance+. A path he found himself on, but he was too weak to walk it.

It is my belief that direction to this path of gods was also written somewhere in Salazar Slytherin's crypt, but by these modern times any such text has been robbed, and shall likely never be found...

Tom watched acacia read with relish. He always enjoyed watching her study. It was a time that she ceased to be who she always was and became only one thing: a sponge. All girlish whim and fancy dropped from her face. She stopped trying to impress and began to simply exist. He stared as she finished looking over the treasure of his summer. She looked up at him, struck as though she didn't know what to say. She opened her mouth several times, only to close it.

"Think of it Ace," he whispered, closing the book and leaning close, "we could be immortal. We could live forever, the two of us. We could laugh in the face of death. Think of it."

Acacia set the book down, thinking of what she had just read. Immortality. Immortality with Tom.

She thought of what he'd just said, 'the two of us' she turned to face him.

"But Tom," She looked into his eyes, "How?"

He laughed, "I don't know." He was almost giddy, "but we'll find out. We're the right ones for the job Ace. We're thinkers, you and I. We know what we're doing. If we start now... think of what we can accomplish in this lifetime... Think of what we could accomplish if this life time never ended."

"Acacia. Do you love me?"

Acacia watched Tom's expression; she loved when he got excited.

"Yes, Tom, I love you."

She sat down on a stack of books, "A life time that never ended..."

"Allo Tom, Acacia." Jereth said sticking his head through a gap in the books on the shelve. "What're ya readin'?"

Tom started to slide the book behind his back, but Jereth saw it and started to laugh.

"Don't tell me," he said clapping a hand on Tom's back, "he's trying to sell you on the immortality thing too?"

Tom scowled.

Acacia nodded.

"You don't think we could do it?" Acacia asked.

"Sure we could do it, but do you really want to is the question." Jereth laughed.

"I mean sure it'd be great to stay the way we are right now forever, but the worlds changing and not for the better." Jereth cautioned.

"Still it would be one hell of a ride." Jereth stated absent mindedly as a smug grin played across his face. "I think I'd rather just stay young forever, death doesn't seem to bad. It's the getting old that kills it."

"But think..." he insisted, "if we live forever... we can change the world ourselves. Think of the power we could have if we just... could keep from dying. We're already smarter and better than the entire school. I mean to be the most powerful wizard alive. Maybe I already am. I want you two to come with me. To rise to power. To become kings. Gods. Think of it..."

Acacia smiled at Tom's enthusiasm. The most powerful wizard alive. He could do it, she knew he had it in him, but he wanted them with him. She took his hand.

"Tom, if you really think we can do this, I'm in." She grinned, "Whatever it takes."

"Just don't get us killed doin' it." Jereth half laughed.

Tom half laughed back, giving Jereth an uneasy look that went completely ignored.

"Lets get out of here," he said, "we need to do something juvenile."

He put a full smile on his face, "lets get it out of our systems before we have to go and be adults for the rest of our lives."

He winked.

Jereth laughed, "My Dad would die of shock if I ever started behaving like an adult."

+Wizard speak – to become a god. (because I said so)

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