Thank you for reading if you made it this far. I just want to say that this story will not run in a chronological manner yet. I feel it is important for me to provide focus on Tom's character as a vampire. It is important to understand that he has lived many centuries, therefore his personality is not as you would usually expect, especially in other fics. I do not want to rush into the chemistry between Tom and Harry, as that is not realistic.

Tom is a vampire, he does not care for Hitler's ideology of what Germany should be, nor does he believe in the propaganda against jews. Regardless, Tom still has his "duties" as a commandment of a concentration camp, and must maintain his appearances. He cannot all of a sudden act his desire to Harry, whatever that "desire" may be to him.

I will not go into details yet of what Tom's duties, as I will reveal it later through the story. I feel that this story will work backwards, starting from his encounter with Harry, dating to when he was turned into a vampire. rOr maybe it won't, who knows? Only then, will I return to a chronological kind of story telling. I know it may seem confusing, but I enjoy writing this way. I feel life is this way, and that it does not always move forward the way we wish it too, and I try to reflect my philosophy into my work, whether it is through fanfiction, poetry, essays, etc. I want to try something new, and I hope that you will enjoy reading this, and follow Tom's journey, and mine as a writer. Thank you.

"I've seen you with a cigarette, and you don't really smoke it," he said, that Avery. A companion I suppose he is, or another beating flesh. I stopped in my tracks, flicking my gaze in his direction. It didn't matter what anyone called it.

"So you've been watching me," I hummed in return.

"Yes," he answered plainly. Curious he was, I underestimated his foolish tendencies. The alley reeked of urine, another dying city, and the pouring weather did not improve this. I approached him, observing the droplets that rolled against his skin, and I watched it travel from the veins of his temple, to his neck, an adam's apple that bobbed.

"You are nervous," I say, crushing the cigarette bud with my heel. It wasn't a question. His mouth opened, barely croaking a reply before I threw him against the bricked wall. He grunted, sliding to the ground. I watched him again, struggling to push himself from the wet rubble, and his eyes landed on mine. He stopped when I touched him, lifting him from above the ground. He struggled to breath, and his eyes grew frantic. "You think you're clever?" I breathed into his face, delving into his scent. There was sweat and alcohol, it was distasteful. I dropped him in disgust.

"I know what you are," he coughed, finally standing to my level. I was unsure if he was confident, or feigning it. I arched a brow, he had my full attention.

"And did you know I was watching you?" I questioned, dismissing his previous statement, but I was on guard. No one had known, and for a child barely hitting his twenties to have seen past the facade? Well, it wounded my pride.

"W-what?"

"Oh Avery, my dear Avery," it was unacceaptable, but the situation was amusing. I had found myself laughing, and unbothered to cover the smirk that twitched upon my lips. It was unsettling, and his eyes revealed his distraught.

Tom Riddle never laughed, not like this.

"Did it ever occur to you that I was the one following you?" I asked in delight. His eyes shifted uneasily, and breifly did I saw the reflection of light in them. He had looked at the end of the alleyway, where little light shone through between the buildings. It was beautiful, and his eyes were like the puddles on the streets. I wanted to rip them from their sockets, and sigh into the comforting warmth as they slipped past my fingers.

I almost missed his fingers twitching towards his pockets. Now was not the time for distractions. I lazily flicked my wrist and his wand cut past his cheek, rolling into a dark puddle. I closed my eyes, the scent of blood flooding into my senses, including his attempt in throwing a punch.

His cries became louder the more I twisted his wrist. It was annoying. "What did you expect playing tag, my dear friend?" I mocked, delicately brushing his wet hair from his eyes. His voice was lost in the rain, but his eyes spoke volumes. I heard it, I knew what Avery had wanted. I dropped his arm, he wouldn't try. He understood nothing could save him, but he was lost long before this encounter. He had given up on life. "Do you understand what you are asking?" I asked, searching into his eyes. Not even occlumency was neccesary.

"On the contraire, Tom, I do," he uttered softly under his voice. I hadn't heard that name in a long time, and then I remembered only him would call me that under the roof of Hogworts. Only he had the confidence to, and to hear it again, I respected his little bravery. I respected him. If it was anyone else, I would've killed them by now. Strange.

"What do you see in this? Is it beauty in the pale skin? In these eyes? Do you have a clue of what will become of you?" He shrunk from my voice, averting his gaze. I dug my nails into his jaw, and twisted them into my direction, "look at me, you fool!"

Avery tore away from my grip, and gazed fiercely into my eyes. They were like flames behind sockets, and oddly it burned. I was agitated, and maybe it was because I was seeing my past self within him. "Do you have any idea what it is to spend the rest of your life begging! Everyday I crawl in shit and those bastards dangle my life in their fucking hands! And for what? What do I have now? I still have nothing!" His voice was clear, but his eyes wavered. It wasn't the rain that coated his cheeks, but the little humanity he had left.

Avery wanted his freedom back. "There is no freedom in this life," I informed bluntly. He will not find it, not exactly what he is looking for.

"But it is more than I have now," and there was was silence. I pitied him, and maybe that was enough to cause me to give him what he desired, to rebirth him again. A slave to hunger, the cursed life of a vampire.

He was screaming, writhing on the ground as the colour of vermilion stained the puddle surrounding him. His neck was a grotesque sight. I licked the excess residue from my lips, looming over his figure.

"This is the choice I never had. You are forever in debt to me. Do not forget this, Avery."