This fanfiction was written inspired by Emerald Ashes fantastic 'Seventh Horcrux' – if you haven't read it, I would highly recommend doing so as it is witty, intelligent and brilliantly written. This fanfiction operates upon a similar concept (that Voldemort's soul has possessed his Seventh Horcrux), but the character is different and I intend to take this story in a completely different direction.

I hope you all enjoy :-)

'Your son, Lucius, shall be my last horcrux'.

'But, my Lord, what about the original plan? The snake?' Lucius trembled under my gaze, kneeling on the floor. As all good minions should, he began to kiss my robes, gazing at me imploringly. 'Please, he is too young and beautiful'.

'Hush Lucius. The reward for the sacrifice of your son shall be great. I shall buy you the new Trésseme conditioner.' I stared down at him, watching as the cogs whirred in his brain: he looked tempted, but still unsure. I decided to sweeten the deal. 'Narcissa can have free reign in decorating my lair. And I'll let you give Dobby a makeover'.

Lucius looked at the floor, pretending to be upset. I smirked. As any good Death Eater, Lucius didn't actually have a heart, so this exchange suited him perfectly. He raised his head to look up at me, tears glinting in his eyes, but behind the waterworks I saw a satisfied gleam. I didn't blame him. That conditioner didn't come cheap. He swallowed as though choking back tears, and then said in a trembling voice, 'As you wish'.

As I killed a minion before the cot of the screaming infant, preparing to do the dark ritual which would turn him into nothing but a mindless shell for my soul to live in, I considered the transience of life. Unless you were me, and thus destined to live forever, it was only natural that you should die and make room for others. Really, I considered, it would be selfish for this child to wish to live without being possessed given that its lifespan would probably end in about 70 years anyway. Casually I flicked my wand, creating the sucking black hole through which to chuck the dead woman's body: having chucked the vessel out and thus sealed my part of the deal with the universe to have my soul split, I pointed my wand at Draco. There was a blinding light, a jolt of panic, and then I was small and screaming, clutching the bars of my cot.

My name is Draco Malfoy, the Seventh Horcrux.

….

'Make sure to write and tell me how you're getting on. It's an exciting new change for you, but also it can be scary - I don't want you to be nervous that you can't tell me how you feel.'

I nodded as the claw like hand anxiously combed back my hair for the eight time. 'Jeff, I'll be fine. I'll let you know if there's anyone with a particularly good heart, I'm sure you'd love to meet them.'

We both laughed (well, Jeff croaked, which was his version of laughter). Jeff is a dementor, so the joke was that if they had a good heart, they would also have a good soul. Which he could eat.

After the Malfoys were both locked up in Azkaban after irrefutable evidence by 200 eyewitnesses that they were Death Eaters, I was sent with them. As their child, unless they went somewhere not technically described as a place of living, or were deemed to be abusive to me, the government could not separate me from them. Meaning that I was raised by dementors. Specifically, Jeff, who had taken a shine to me. Originally of course he had tried to eat my soul (par for the course, I couldn't really blame him). However, I had soon instilled enough fear into them that I had become practically family amongst them, sharing similar traits of sadism and a fundamental hollowness of spirit. My second childhood was far more enjoyable than the first, as I was allowed to rampage freely throughout the dead, blackened island of Azkaban: the dementors had no problem with me experimenting with Dark Rituals as long as I finished in time for tea, and seeing all the dead, hollow-eyed prisoners reminded me pleasantly of my days in power. Occasionally I saw Lucius who was under the impression he was my father and continued to try and convert me to the side of the Light (apparently after the loss of his son he had lost faith with the Death Eaters) and convince me to brush my hair. However, this touching scene didn't affect me too much as I didn't care.

The government hadn't bothered to send anyone to actually collect me, probably as they imagined that by now I was dead, but as I was Lord Voldemort this didn't faze me one bit. I had simply willed a boat into existence and voila. As I climbed into the tiny rowing boat, my trunk clutched between my legs, the air and sea grey as stone, I felt a surge of excitement course through me. Today was the day. I was finally going to Hogwarts. Jeff tried to suck my soul out my body once more before I went, and I asserted dominance by once again proving my soul was so corrupted and twisted it wasn't edible. We both chuckled nostalgically as he patted me on the shoulder with his skeletal hand. I grabbed my oar, and began to row out, staring back at the tiny depressing island once more before I left, wiping away a fond tear. Once arriving on the mainland, I had no trouble in finding my way to London. Although I had no money or wand, my charismatic personality seemed to win everyone over. One man even kindly abandoned his car for me when I tapped on the window and ran down the street, considerably speeding up the process as although I had no idea how to drive, I simply willed the car to drive itself. It would be easy enough to hoodwink Dumbledore and claim that it was a small matter of accidental magic, as untrained witches and wizards are prone to. I only hit about 20 people on the way and killed none of them, so I have no idea why they all started shouting after my car. I zoomed by, coolly unconcerned, leaving them far in the distance.

Upon arriving at Diagon Alley with my First year list of equipment and no money whatsoever, I immediately set about fixing this mistake. 'Accio coins' I thought, gazing at a small man with a monocle and handlebar moustache. He was gazing at a broom, clearly distracted, his pockets were full of loose coins: furthermore, I chose him as my victim due to his obvious wish to be a Victorian gentleman, which I wished to mock through theft. My hands now full of cash, I set about hiding the money in the secret pockets Jeff had sewn inside my robes, careful not to repeat this man's foolish mistake. After all, there were thieves everywhere. You can't trust anybody.

….

I walked into Madame Malkins', my solid gold sunglasses gleaming in the lamplight, trailing behind me my new designer owl in its similarly solid gold cage, various books and potion ingredients all on a small trolley I had bought for this specific purpose. Inside there was a small boy with rumpled black hair and circular glasses, looking around nervously as he waited for his turn. He blinked when he saw me, clearly in awe, although this could also have been the reflection from my solid gold glasses. As I sat on the waiting bench next to him, I introduced myself, surveying him over the tops of my glasses. 'I'm Draco Malfoy. And your name?'. The boy seemed shocked into silence. I coolly watched him as he stuttered.

'Harry – Harry Potter'. Ah, the Potter boy. So clearly my other self had not succeeded in killing him. Making a mental note to finish the job if we were ever alone together, I was about to continue the pleasant conversation when I heard a sudden shriek from across the room.

'What is a dementor doing in here! Get out! Get out! Expecto Patronum!'

I watched calmly as Madame Malkin waved her wand at me, a horrified expression on her face. After a while, when her squirrel patronus had evidently not dispelled me and I continued to remain solid, I pulled down my hood.

'Why on earth are you wearing dementor robes? You terrified me!'

I gazed down at my attire. Jeff had lovingly strung together the blackened husks of dead souls to make this cloak for me and I did not take kindly to such aspersions on my appearance. 'You have no concept of fashion', I said, raising a condescending eyebrow as the everyone in the shop stared at me. 'Evidently I will do better in Twilfitt and Tattings, where they know how to treat their customers'. I pointed at Harry. 'I will see you around'. And with that, I swished out of the shop, slamming the door behind me dramatically.

…

My new robes on top of my enormous pile of stuff, swaying dangerously on the trolley, I marched into Ollivander's. Harry Potter was there, trying out wands. It wasn't going particularly well. I leaned against the doorframe, watching in amusement as he almost decapitated Ollivander with an axe which shot from the tip as he shook it. After a while of watching these antics, the most memorable of which being when Harry shook the wand and it burst into flame nearly turning the shop into an inferno, I coughed for the old man's attention. He grew pale when he saw me.

'Hello there, young….man', he said. 'What can I do for you today?'

'I would like to buy a new wand. Obviously, otherwise I wouldn't have entered this shop'.

As Ollivander scurried between me and Harry, both of us waving wands which continued to break, obliterate or attempt to murder things, I grew frustrated. Just as I was about to wave the fourteenth wand Ollivander gave me, I looked over and saw Harry holding a wand. He was staring at it intently as it emitted a golden glow, his hair waving as though blown by a powerful wind. Jealously I made to wave my wand again, when the old man chose to speak.

'Strange…that this wand is the twin of Lord Voldemort's'.

As Harry gasped, I snatched his wand. It glowed in a similar fashion in my hand, blowing my long blonde hair back and turning warm. I looked at Ollivander. 'Clearly, this is my wand'.

Ollivander laughed awkwardly. 'Now young man, lets not get hasty. This must just be a side effect of the wand choosing Harry, who is evidently its true master'. I shook the wand again, to prove my point. It emitted a shower of golden sparks.

'Wow', said Harry as we left the shop. 'I can't believe that Ollivander found a third phoenix feather wand from the same bird so quickly'. I smiled at him condescendingly and chose not to reply.

'Um', said Harry, 'do you ever take those sunglasses off?'

'No, Harry', I responded. 'As I have already said, unlike you and the other plebeians, I have taste'. Harry nodded, accepting this, and we walked on for a while in silence.

'Why do you think the same wand chose both of us? I know you have a different one now, but it's still very strange. I thought wands chose only one wizard.'

I responded that it did seem strange. I had been considering this question too, puzzled by why Harry had been to the same wand I had been. I had expected that, if there was a wand which took a phoenix feather from my old wand, I would be drawn to it, given that I was the same person. However, how Harry Potter played into the equation I had no idea. Unless…

I turned to him. 'Are you famous?'

He turned bright red. 'Well, apparently I defeated the Dark Lord when I was a baby…'

10 minutes later, Harry cheerfully walking back toward the Leaky Cauldron with Hagrid waving at me as I sat gloomily prodding ice cream at Florian's, I mulled over the turn of events. I had drawn a number of conclusions from the information I had drawn from Harry, none of them good. With my high intellect, they were all bound to be correct.

1. Harry Potter had evidently not killed the Dark Lord, due to the fact that I, technically a horcrux, was still alive.

2. Harry Potter was also a horcrux, but due to the fact he had not been intended as one and thus there had been no Dark Ritual to formalise it, Voldemort's soul had not possessed him.

3. If Voldemort's soul did manage to possess him, there would in effect be three Voldemorts, myself one of them.

4. I, for one, intended on becoming the only Dark Lord, meaning that I would have to kill the original Voldemort to usurp his place. If this was the possessed Harry's intention too, there would be war for the top spot.

5. Although he had described his protection from the Killing Curse as being due to his mother's love, I knew better. Evidently Harry Potter was far more intelligent than I had given him credit for, concealing Dark Magic which he had used against my original self. If I wanted to win this tournament, I would have to make use of all the tricks up my sleeve.