A/N: Though this is technically a H/D story, I will be concentrating more on our narrator. And, strangely, he does look like Harry in some sense (black hair, green eyes), but he was created before I wrote Harry Potter fanfic.

I've never really considered myself crazy- not in the conventional way, at least. A crazy man is one who runs in random circles screaming about the sky exploding. I am not insane in that way, at least.

Which is why it amused me to quite no end when I heard about this entertaining little… quest to destroy the so-called, 'Dark Lord.' Well, I assure you I am not destroyed- it would be rather difficult to do that. But the encounter was quite interesting, nevertheless. No, I am not the precious 'Voldemort.' He was quite the bumbling imbecile, not being able to kill a defenseless boy, and as for the power of love- ha! How utterly amusing. He was firmly defeated around five years ago, I fear. And I took his place, as I had been hiding in the shadows for a while, never a Death Eater, never a member of his cult… simply his half-brother.

My name is Lawrence Jasper Edwards. And this, I fear, is the beginning of my tale. Well, perhaps that is not solely true. There are other actors in this play we refer to as life- Harry Potter, naturally, Hermione Granger, though her lover, Ron Weasely, died in the war. Draco Malfoy, Potter's lover. I do believe that is all of the important members… now, who do you think survived our little encounter, besides me?

"Draco! Draco!" Hermione's voice, slightly petulant at being ignored, rang out. (Allow me some freedom… though I did not truthfully witness these events, a few, shall I say, companions of mine did, and I will enter their observations into this, though exercising some artistic freedom)

"Yes?" he finally looked up from where he was pouring over the papers. "What is it?"

"Do you honestly think that will help?" she demanded.

"Yes, Hermione, I really do, or else I doubt I would be doing it."

"Well, wouldn't a textbook on him help more?" Hermione glared, pulling out her own book.

Draco looked up at her sarcastically. "A textbook. On a Dark Wizard. Yes, that will be perfect. Please. Do you really think that he'd let anything be written about him?"

"Well…"

"Answer: no. Which is why I'm researching the defense of dark curses, and I have no idea what he's doing."

"I," Harry sighed, "am trying not read Tom Riddle's diary for any mention of his half-brother, but it's not really working."

Hermione huffed, but nodded. "Well, what does he want with Ginny anyway?"

"Who knows? Who cares? More than likely he's just a random sadistic bastard who wanted to follow in dear old brother's footsteps. Let's just make it quick. In-out, in-out."

A snort of laughter from Draco.

"What's so funny?"

"One, your complete inability to rationalize. You're an Auror, Harry, use logic. Do not group everyone in one big huddle. Two, in-out, in-out? Really, Harry… did I teach you nothing about Burgess?"

"That's not what I meant!"

"Nevertheless…" (The in-out, in-out, for those of you who have not read Burgess' accomplished novel, A Clockwork Orange, is the Nadsat term for rape/sex. I do suggest you read it, the Nadsat is quite nice, really, once you begin to understand it.)

Harry rolled his eyes, flipping through a page. "Isn't there a spell to find stuff faster?"

"Yes, there probably is, but you may want to specify what 'stuff' is," Draco sighed, "and then ask Hermione. I'm not as…accomplished… as she is in such."

"'Mione, you know what I mean…"

"Yes, there is. Invenio Lawrence!" she muttered, pointing at the book.

The pages flipped rapidly, opening to one page, where the entire text was highlighted in a shimmering, luminescent gold.

"Well," Draco smirked, "there's the page. Care to read it?"

Harry began to read. (I have found the diary… this is the exact quote.)

Lawrence visited today, the little brat. He doesn't go to Hogwarts- never has, never will. But he does do magic, I know that. I don't know whose teaching him or if he's going to another school. I wouldn't care, but… he's more powerful than I am. Hit me with the Imperious, and won. Stubborn boy. I'm not being specific, though, so I'll try.

Lawrence showed up again, looking as he always did- groomed and perfect, but dark jade eyes always on the brim of insanity, much more than my brown. He always tried to look perfect, he spent hours grooming… if I didn't know better I'd call him a fag. But even though he was never really obvious about it, no one could call him gay.

His pale skin nearly glowed as he came up to me, smirking. "Why, hello, brother. I did miss you. So how is your…" he looked around the grounds, "school?"

Which many may have thought polite, but Lawrence always had a hidden insult. I countered. "Fine. And how's the ditch you call a school?"

"Oh, quite alright, really. Business as usual. But, you know, I have discovered a few odd talents. Perhaps I could enroll here. I'm sure they'd be pleased to have me." Much more than you… the term implied.

"What, a redneck from South Carolina? Unlikely. This is an elite school."

"North Carolina, actually," he corrected, smooth, drawling. "And I've been living in England with you and your… relatives (slugs, the lot, he meant), for ten years now, so I strongly doubt I can be called a redneck. And anyway, I can do this…" he pointed his wand at my chest. I hardly had time to process his words before I had turned into a squeaking white mouse. Not pleasant.

Lawrence bent down. "Oh, hello, Tom. Still so certain?" he hissed.

"You bastard," I hissed. "Un-do it."

"Now, now, why would I? It's much more amusing to see you like this… moreover, I have the feeling that this is your normal shape. Good-bye. I hope no one steps on you."

He walked away, smiling slightly. I did manage to get Lucius Malfoy to reverse the spell- but still. And that wasn't the end of it, either.

Lawrence had been talking with a few friends of mine, in the Slytherin Common Room, and they seemed to love him. Of course they would. He was always charming, and perfect, and calm. Calm before the storm, and after.

I shot off a spell at him at once, a Jelly-Legs Jinx. It hit him, but Malfoy- traitor- took it off. Then he threw a spell back- the Imperious. In public. I felt his will seeping into mine… I tried to fight, but he was too powerful, always wishing, 'Come on, Tommy… you know whose in charge here, come on…' I gave in after about twenty minutes of his constant mental whispers and raw magical pressure.

Lawrence smirked. "Well, Tom… now what should I make you do? Any suggestions?" he offered. "And, uhm… if any of you want to run off to your precious Headmaster and warn him that there's a dangerous lunatic on the grounds who has just performed an Unforgivable Curse, go right ahead. But I swear you will be dead before you get out the door, by magical or Muggle means. Do you doubt me? And even if you to leave, I will simply… let us say, disappear."

The Slytherin dorm was silent for a few moments, as people left to their respective rooms under his eye. The people who were left would eventually become my followers, but then they were cheering him on and telling him what to do, making me dance, kiss Narcissa, to her disgust, and other such…

I will defeat them. And they will be my slaves.

Harry slammed the book shut. "Well."

Hermione stared for a moment. "This. Is. Impossible."

"Strange… I always assumed that things that happened weren't impossible. Apparently, I was wrong," Draco muttered.

I turned, half-smirking, half-smiling, to the grave of my half-brother, speaking to his tombstone. "Well, I see you've managed to destroy yourself at long-last. What, no ghost to curse me for eternity? I would almost expect it of you; you were always quite traditional when it came to… what did you call it, evil? I myself do not believe in good nor evil. But considering my past I can see why most would group me into the latter, I suppose. But at least I was not so- blatant as you, you stupid fool."

With that said, I walked away, with the same fixed expression on my face. I wondered, briefly, if Tom even had a ghost, but I doubted it. He, for all accounts and purposes, was, while a strong mage, not strong enough, and the form of insanity that had gripped him had stripped his already mutaliated magical powers even lower.

My form of insanity, however, did not entail jumping up and down and screaming, "Kill him! Kill him!" Mine was more calm, calculated- though my kind do suffer from a quick temper and rash actions, we are oft suave, and charming. My form of insanity gave me power, control. It did not dimish my powers- rather, improved them. I was the opposite of dear little Tom, that I assure you.

So why should I be defeated by Tom's downfall? True, I enjoyed them. Harry was an interesting hero, and Draco certainly had potential… and, naturally, one of Hermione's intelligence would be quite pleasant to converse with. No, I had no intention of killing them. They were much too interesting.

Draco put an arm around Harry's waist, resting his chin on Harry's shoulder. "Hello," he muttered.

"Hello, Draco," Harry laughed quietly. "Bored?"

"Eh. Yes. Hermione is rather over-working this problem, isn't she?" He gestured vaguely to the girl, who was reading a thick, 1,000 pg textbook on psychology and other such. She had about ten other books strewn all around her.

"I think she is, considering."

"I don't see what's so difficult about it. It's rather simple to get over morals when it's a matter of life and death. Heroes who cannot manage that are heroes no longer."

Harry chuckled, mussing Draco's platinum-blond hair, much to his annoyance. "You're so simplistic."

"No, not simplistic. Logical. There is a difference. And moreover, Harry, I was a Death Eater for a while, and my father most certainly was, before- well."

"Your point being?"

"That Lawrence Edwards was never mentioned. Never thought about. Now, either he's great at hiding in the shadows, in which case we're more or less screwed, or…"

"He's bluffing."

"Exactly."

"Well, does he really have Ginny?"

"Probably," Draco's voice was lazy, smooth, as if this was a topic he discussed daily. "Remember, he never contacted us. You found this one on your own. If he told us, then he'd be bluffing. But in this case…"

"He does have her."

"Yes, he does. But now comes the, in my opinion, more important question: What does he want with her?"

The irony of that statement was greatly because Malachi, my former wife's brother, was asking me the exact same question- well, no. Not exact. Rather, "What do ya want with her?"

"Well, what do you assume? You have known me for a while, after all."

"Only long enough to know that ya could do anything with her."

I smiled. "True enough. But I am not planning to kill her or any such… that is for my dear, dead half-brother. No, she is much more useful alive."

"Why?"

I turned, smiling slightly. "Now, Malachi. You should know me better than that- don't ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody." The last part was a quote from The Catcher in the Rye- the last line, actually, and if you were as well-acquianted with my past as Malachi was, it was bitterly appropriate. How should I… well, let me clarify a bit: I am an orphan. But, let me say, it was particially… optional. No, I do not mean I could have saved my parents lives, and I will not give you some sob story about how losing them ruined me forever and turned me into the very model of evil. No- it is cliché, and moreover, completely and utterly untrue. And while I will commit many sins, my dear reader, on others and, perhaps, even on you, I rarely see the point in lying to someone whom I do not know and shall likely never meet. It is illogical, and that is treason to all of my nature.

But you have not truly met Malachi, so I should fix that:

Malachi stood before me, his sky-blue eyes calm, undemanding. Malachi rarely demanded anything- his own nature would not let him, just as mine forced me to demand. He was dressed in a light blue and white plaid shirt and dark blue jeans, a cowboy all the way but for a pearl-gray Stetson on his head and leather boots. He was Texan born and used to live there, before moving around the age of twenty-three to live with his sister, Celeste. He seemed to be analyzing something, but you could rarely tell with Malachi- he managed to change topics quickly and with a sort of ease that came from years of practice.

He had short, cropped hair, a mix between dirty blond and faded red. A sort of light russet, really. His skin was the sort of light tan that only came from the Southern sun, his voice still carrying the Texan accent that made sure no one doubted where he came from. He used ya'll often, amongst other words.

He turned to me, smiling. "Well, and unless yer planning to do this whole thing by yerself, I suggest ya tell me what yer plannin."

"Why couldn't I do it by myself?"

"Ya could. But it would be pretty goddamn stupid, Lawrence, and ya know it. And yer not stupid. Cause, see, if ya do it yerself, it can be easily traced back. This way, it can't."

"True." He knew as well as I did that I had already decided to use his help, and that I was simply stringing him along- it was an old habit of mine, one I never broke. I enjoyed it, you see. Malachi had known me long enough to tell, but others…

"Well, and what we must do we must. You are aware of the ancient rite, are you not?"

"Which one? There are half a million, L.E, and you know it."

Malachi was the only one who was allowed to abbreviate my name into L.E. Other than that, I found it rude and annoying. He was practically my brother- well, more specifically, he was. My brother-in-law, anyway.

I chuckled. "Think of the two oldest."

"But… they're both almost suicide!"

"Well, I am insane, aren't I, Malachi? It is simply what is expected. And moreover, it is not. I am not planning to perform the rites by myself, so I doubt it will be too harmful if spread over the power of about 7 people. And tell me it won't work."

"It might, but…"

"It may? It will work perfectly, as you very well know. It would be simple, and it would certainly improve the state of the Wizarding World, no?"

Malachi shook his head. "I'll look for them," he stated, walking off.

And, one last comment: Both my parents, Stephanie and Graham Edwards, were Muggles. So, no, I do not have any huge wish to purge the world of Muggle-borns, or as they are so rudely referred to, Mudbloods. I am one, after all. Besides the fact, the Weasely is a pureblood.

Love? Hate? Review, please!