Note: Vampire!AU and the witches in this story don't possess wands. Inspired by The Vampire Diaries

Love was painful, pointless, and overrated.

Tom was well aware of this fact, yet no matter what he did, he couldn't stay away. He couldn't erase her from his mind. He couldn't let her go.

He stared at the fire crackling in his fireplace, swishing the amber liquid in his lowball glass. Even the dancing flames reminded Tom of her.

Life as a vampire had its ups and downs, but nothing that had happened to him in the past three centuries compared to what he had done in the last year. Tom committed the ultimate sin that was even worse than revealing himself to humankind.

He'd fallen for a witch.

Witches and vampires were bitter enemies long before werewolves ever existed. That doesn't stop Tom Riddle.

It was in the spring when he first met her. He remembered the meadow of fresh flowers lining the entrance of the forest.

She was alone, standing in the middle of the clearing without a care in the world. He could sense there was something different about her; it was her initial scent. The scent of a witch.

There were so many ways he could have killed her; instead, he was rooted to the spot. Why? Because she turned around, and their eyes met.

Her shimmering falu dress with gold stitching billowed with the wind, along with her hair. Seeing the deep red colour on her body made Tom think of the blood coursing through her veins. Somehow, the decorative flowers weaved in her blonde locks didn't move. Her face was soft, and her skin resembled smooth porcelain. She could have been mistaken for a vampire if it weren't for the steady beating of her heart.

Tom had only taken one step, his mind tempted with tasting her fresh blood when she spoke to him.

"You're a vampire," she said bluntly, her eyes wide in curiosity. The moonlight brightened the colour in her eyes; they looked like pools of silver.

"Rather perceptive for a young witch," Tom replied coolly. "Though, I must say you're perception won't save you."

Her head tilted slightly, almost too innocent-like for Tom's liking. "I'm not afraid of you."

Tom flexed his fingers. "You should be."

"Why?"

The question made him pause. Was this witch really naive? Was it a game to her? He should have killed her then and there, but something kept him from doing so.

That was his first mistake.

"Why?" Tom repeated.

She nodded, a small smile on her face. "Yes. Why should I be afraid of you?"

Tom wanted to respond with 'I'm a vampire, duh' or some variation of the statement, except the words never came. Instead, he just stood there staring at her.

'She's a brave one.'

"Well?" she said. "Are you going to answer the question? Or is it because there's no plausible response that you could make."

"I could kill you," Tom quipped.

The blonde giggled. "I could kill you as well."

'Touche.'

He crossed his arms, keeping his guard up. "It seems we've reached an impasse," he remarked.

She shook her head. "Not necessarily. I won't kill you, and you won't kill me." She took a step towards him. "We could go our separate ways, potentially crossing paths in the future. Or…"

Tom raised an eyebrow at the witch. "Or…?"

"You could tell me a story," she said.

'This witch is mad.'

He barked out a laugh, holding his side in a poised manner. "You want me to tell you a story?" he asked.

"Yes," she answered. "Your speech is rather eloquent, so I assume you've walked the earth for quite a long time. Surely you have stories of your life."

Tom licked his lips. Here was a witch that had the gall to stand before him and request he shares pieces of his life. She couldn't be older than her twenties, however, she had the stature of someone thrice her age.

It was admirable on some levels.

"You're not afraid that I'd lie?" he asked before quickly adding, "Should I accept such a ludicrous proposal."

The young witch shook her head once again. "No," she said.

"And you don't think I would snap your neck where you stand?"

"You would have done so already if that was what you really wanted."

"You're quite the odd witch."

"I'm told I'm odd on many occasions. Are you going to tell me a story?"

Tom had gone against everything he believed in that night. He told her more than one story, and not once did he have the desire to kill her.

He did, of course, have the desire to drink from her.

She told him after the third story that she wanted to see him again, that she wanted to hear more of his stories.

He didn't know what possessed him to do it–he'd blame his narcissistic impulses–but he went back to the clearing. Every time he did, she would be there eagerly awaiting to hear whatever stories he had to tell.

One of those nights, the wind blew her hair past her shoulders, and her scent filled his nose. It smelled like jasmine and spice. Her pulse in her neck was louder than usual, enticing him to move closer to her.

Her eyes were on him the entire time, watching his face shift into a monstrous form.

"You want to bite me," she stated. "But you won't."

"What makes you say that?" he said, his head tilting to fit the curve of her neck.

"Because you don't want to hurt me."

She had been right, and Tom only kissed the section softly. Honestly, it was starting to get embarrassing.

Killing other witches and humans was effortless, yet Tom couldn't kill her. He couldn't so much as scratch the witch.

He didn't even know her name.

Names were never exchanged, only words and stories. She didn't have stories of her own to tell, but she did have descriptions of creatures that were unknown to the common folk. She would tell him of Thestrals and Nargles, Nifflers and Finnhusks.

Tom had never heard of such creatures, and he had over three hundred years worth of knowledge. It didn't stop him from listening to her, though. When she spoke of the creatures, her eyes lit up far more than any other light would manage.

It was when he realized he was too far gone to stay away from her.

He was a fool for allowing the mockery of emotion to grow within him; he hadn't tasted her blood yet was addicted to the witch.

The thought that she'd put a spell on him had crossed his mind a few times. It didn't stay there much longer.

She brushed her hair over her shoulder, giving him the perfect view of her neck. The smell of jasmine and spice had intensified, and Tom closed his eyes and clenched his fist.

"What are you doing?" he hissed.

"I'm offering," she replied simply.

Tom shook his head. "I can't."

Her hand was on his cheek, and when he opened his eyes she was nearly on his lap.

"You won't hurt me," she said. "Do it."

His first thought that it was a trick, but he quickly brushed it away for the fact that she could have trapped him anytime before. He searched her eyes for any hesitation.

He found none.

Tom's slender fingers held her shoulder firmly as he leaned into her neck. His eyes darkened and his fangs pierced her skin.

The taste of her blood was like no other; it was a wave of euphoria sent to his taste buds. He could feel her hand moving down his shoulder and his own arm slipping around her waist.

He had enough control to release her neck. He licked the wound he'd created and held her close, her blood painted on his lips.

Almost everything after that was a blur. It's almost everything because he did remember telling her his name.

She knew his name and parts of his history. She had his attention and affection. She hadn't been seen in two weeks.

He scoured the forest for her, not finding her in the clearing where they normally met. His mind was darkening, clouded with doubt and anger.

His only consolation was the whiskey and blood in his glass.

Even that wasn't sating him anymore.

With a snarl, Tom threw his glass into the fire, watching the rise of the flames.

He was the fool that allowed himself a moment he shouldn't have. He was not actually alive, and yet, his flesh was weakened by her. He was enamoured by a witch who decided he wasn't enough. He allowed this to keep him from his true potential and nature as a vampire.

She would suffer for it. The world would suffer for it.

Love was painful, pointless, and overrated.

A/N: Written for HSWW (Challenges and Assignments) and The Houses Competition

(THC) House: Gryffindor; Year/Position: Year 4; Theme: Temptation; Colour: Falu; Prompt: [Quote] "Numbing the pain for a while will make it worse when you finally feel it." ~Albus Dumbledore.; Word Restriction: 1,000 - 3,000

(HSWW) Assignment #7 Muggle Studies Task 3: write about a get-together with two people

Word Count: 1,474