They said that once blood stained your hands for the first time there was no way to get rid of it, that your mind began thirsting for more of that precious liquid to be spilt until the urge became too strong for you to continue denying yourself such a pleasure.

Had Harry Potter been a man of weaker constitution, he would have agreed with that idea, as ridiculous as it sounded. However, Harry wasn't, and that made all the difference in the world. It wasn't the bloodlust that controlled him, rather it was he who controlled the bloodlust by embracing it as an integral part of himself.

How could he deny something he had nurtured himself?

…xXx…

Harry surveyed the man who sat on the other side of the oak table. The slight bruising around the other male's right eye as well as the blood that had stained the burst lip was the decoration that was common to most of the people that were found traversing through his walls without purpose or authorisation. Harry was certain that he had never seen the other male before, he wasn't even on of the meat shields they kept for the jobs that weren't worth the time of the people who were more important.

Killing the male would be the easier choice, it always was, but he had been resourceful enough to come as far as he had. Whether it was his magical prowess or avant-garde methods of fighting, Harry didn't know yet, and there were some people who would be getting a little visit from him for that lack of information, but Harry did know that the man would be an asset.

Not to mention the look of revenge that hung at the back of the male's blue eyes, an emotion Harry loved to see worn with such conviction. It reminded Harry a little bit of himself, before he had created his Family. There was still some of that person within him, he had never disappeared even after the Dursleys had been killed in an "accidental" fire nearly eight years ago.

Harry leaned back. The barrels that were trained on the other man didn't relent despite the slight loosening of the grip on the man's arms.

"So, what's your story?"

…xXx…

Harry marvelled at the skill and prowess the boy, Tom Riddle as he had later introduced himself without prompting. Harry was certain that had Tom begun honing his skills at the same age as Harry, they would be on equal footing, or perhaps Tom would even have surpassed Harry with his genius.

It was only Harry's experience that proved to be an advantage against Tom, and Harry was extremely glad that he had not decided to kill Tom that day. After Harry had arranged the little incident that included Tom in the Riddle Manor that day only a year ago, Tom's loyalty had been unparalleled within Harry's Family. There was little that Tom wouldn't do for Harry, and a lot that Tom did without Harry noticing that made Harry's assignments a lot easier than they would have been otherwise.

The boy truly was a genius when he put his mind to something. Harry had learnt that on the second mission that he had sent Tom on, armed with nothing more than a gun and his wand. The alarm to the Malfoy home was raised long after Tom had returned back to their headquarters. Harry had been particularly proud of that one, and hadn't been too proud to tell Tom of it. That day had marked the beginning of Tom's quick ascent in Harry's ranks.

"Harry, you're needed in the… Harry?"

Tom was the only one that called him by his given name. The rest preferring variations of Harry's higher status. Tom was also the only one who walked into Harry's room unannounced, having voluntarily taken over Harry's schedule, making sure that Harry wasn't left rushing to finish things at the last moment as he was sometimes forced to.

While Harry was grateful for all of this, sometimes everything Tom did seemed to be just a little… obsessive. Harry didn't think that he was the only one who had noticed either, but the others didn't seem too worried about it, so Harry couldn't find himself to be too worried about such a trivial matter.

Harry knew that Tom had come up behind him from the heat against his back. Tom being this close to him made him uncomfortable in the beginning, but it was purely through Tom's persistence that Harry had grown accustomed to it. Harry had learnt early on that Tom rarely gave up, and never gave up something he had made a decision on.

Knowing that there wouldn't be much space between them if he turned around, Harry continued looking out the window.

"What is your intention, Tom?"

"Intention, Harry?" Tom's voice was innocent, but Harry knew that his expression would be anything but innocent.

"Do I need to repeat myself?" Harry asked, casting half a glance behind him before meeting Tom's eyes in the darkened glass.

"Of course not, Harry. I merely need some … clarity."

Harry sighed tiredly. "I do not understand this… this affection you seem to be showering me with. I remain uncertain of what it entails."

"It entails nothing more than what you feel."

Harry noticed that Tom hadn't truly answered his question, but he didn't pursue the subject further. They were late enough as it was.

…xXx…

Over the next few days, Harry realised that the odd conversation had more consequences than he had originally thought. Tom's hands had kept to himself before then, but no more.

Harry hadn't thought that those feelings could be ignited by a person. He was a healthy twenty-five year old. He had those urges when he had been younger, and such things had been taken care of out of the headquarters in the only way Harry had known. He had believed them to be gone with the raging hormones teenagers seemed to be infamous for.

Tom was different, somehow. Or perhaps Tom simply knew him so well by now that the reactions he invoked were expected. Either or both were possible at this moment, because Harry had been tossed into the deep end and he knew it.

"Do you understand better now?" Tom whispered to him, the shadows coating both of their skin over the hands that roamed without bound.

Harry didn't need to reply. The fact that they were in the position that they were was answer enough, the light pants that escaped his lips only serving to emphasise it. If Harry was to be honest, he didn't understand all of these strange emotions, but they were something that could be figured out along the way. Tom would eagerly help too, if given the chance.

The blood on Tom's hands was similar to the blood on Harry's hands, the blood of family that had never cared, and that meant that Tom understood more than the rest of them did.

Written for OTP AU Competition: Mafia!AU