Disclaimer: I do not own.

A/N: AU! Setting is supposed to be Victorian era- ish. Still working on it though~ And no magic and stuff. That's all for now... i think. :D

Harry ran as fast as he could from the persistent hunter.

Breathing heavily, he desperately tried to ignore the burning pain in his legs as he stumbled on the stairs.

Now that he looked at the events that led to his current predicament, he seemed to spend half of the time running from his pursuer and the other half hiding from said man.

He caught a flash of an open door in his peripheral and he rushed in without a second thought. Inside, he found huge glass windows with intricate designs on the walls. Moonlight peeked in from behind heavy velvet curtains and fell upon a white grand piano. Tall shelves with neatly stacked books decorated the wall opposite a grandfather clock and a black fireplace that looked extremely dusty.

Harry would have stayed rooted to the ground, awestruck, if not for the voice in his head reminding him that he didn't have that luxury.

He hurried towards the desk at the farthest part of the room and squeezed himself into the cramped space under.

There was a slow creak and Harry was aware that the man was close. He could hear footsteps roaming around the room, following the pace of the ticking clock.

Every tick of the clock, he knew his predator was growing closer.

Tick, tock, tick, tock…

The clock suddenly made a loud ringing sound.

It was midnight.

When the noise stopped, so did the footsteps. Harry grew uneasy and he squirmed in his place. He was sweating bullets and panting heavily.

He looked up and saw a shadow in front of the desk. A hand grabbed the underside of the table and a head peaked at him. The man crouched down to be eye-level with Harry, admiring the emerald eyes that seemed to glisten brighter under the faint moonlight.

"Playtime's over, Potter."

The man dragged him out from under the table and Harry struggled from the man's grasp. His attempts were futile, however, as his strength was nothing compared to the man. Strong arms shoved him to the tall chair nearby. Harry crashed into it, wincing. He opened his mouth to protest, but the man's hovering body made him eat is words.

"Don't make me repeat myself," the man stated. He sounded calm, but Harry could detect the heavy threat behind the words.

"You should know better, Tom. I don't intend to give in to you," Harry growled, lifting his head in a challenging manner and staring at the man head-on.

He knew better than to be deceived by his hunter's outstanding looks: A tall stature; creamy brown hair, piercing crimson eyes - he was, without a doubt, a beautiful work of art.

Except for one simple flaw.

He was a twisted masterpiece, born from a dark, rough past. He was an angel intending to wreak havoc, to create hell... a paradox indeed.

"That's more like it." Tom's lips spread into a wide, menacing grin.

Tom Riddle was broken and Harry Potter could say the same for himself.

He closed his eyes in frustration.

How did he end up living with the man who had mercilessly killed his parents?