'Flopsy', I called. A tiny wrinkled house elf wearing a flower patterned pillow case appeared out of thin air.

'Sir?', she inquired tremulously, looking up at me in confusion. 'Did Sir call me? Begging your pardon but I do not think I have seen Sir before…'

'No, you haven't', I said. I was still tucked underneath my blankets, potions book in hand. I had been reading up on Dark Magic potions for ideas on how to subtly murder Potter, but had found no luck yet, just become very peckish in the effort. 'Your' – I made a guess – 'Mistress knows me. She told me to call on you if I ever needed anything'.

The elf perked up. 'Oh! Mistress Annabel! What can I do for you, Sir?'

'Bring me a plate of six eggs, six rashers of fried bacon and some buttered toast. Also a flagon of pumpkin juice'. As the elf disappeared with a crack, I smirked. It had been laughably simple to feed myself over the summer. All house elves had ridiculous names such as Flopsy, Hopsy, Boppy and the such like, meaning that if I was ever peckish I just had to purposefully yell names until one came. With their over-eager wish to please and the fact that any aspect of free-thinking or a critical mindset had been beaten out of them since they were born, it was remarkably easy to make them think I knew their owner and get a free meal. The only issue of course was that the owner, upon a report from the elf, would soon realise that someone had scammed them, meaning that I had to keep trying out new names. I wasn't too worried of course, as there was no shortage of house elves with rabbit – esq names, and I still had hundreds more ideas. Flopsy appeared with a breakfast tray laden with fruit, hot chocolate, tea, coffee and fresh rolls as well as my requested items. I flicked my hand. 'You may leave'.

It was small and cramped inside my current living space, but I didn't mind. Jeff, his therapy lessons having unlocked a core of humanity inside him, had promptly been eaten six months ago by his fellows, so I had no real reason to go back to Azkaban. I didn't particularly miss him, but he had been a good laugh, and it had been nice having a parental figure who only attempted to kill me once a day. Over the summer holidays then I had been living inside a magical tent, the inside of which resembled a mansion. As part of her training, I made Penny drag me around in it, meaning that she simultaneously gained muscle from the weight training and I had a series of nice little holidays. So far I had only travelled five metres as Penny was still not particularly strong, but I lived in hope: I had been impressed with her so far. During my First Year I had sent her to find the rest of the horcruxes my other self had created, to ensure they were still in tact, a task which had taken all year. Still, it was extremely impressive, especially for an animal with a brain which was proportionally far smaller than that of a human being.

I was not wasting this free time. One positive of not living in Azkaban was the amount of information I had access to regarding my previous self. I had been conducting studies: currently I was living inside the Forbidden Forest, but would regularly walk out to Hogsmede, asking around Knockturn Alley for news of my old self. I found it strange that the Ministry would allow the shops on this street to continue to open, given that all of the goods they sold were clearly evil and evidently all supported Voldemort, but beggars can't be choosers. All of them appeared to have at least one relative who had actively helped the Dark Lord during his days of glory and I now had a detailed chronological list of his activities right up until he had killed Harry Potter. Unfortunately for me, the picture was looking grim.

I was walking back from visiting Borgin & Burkes, where I had learned that Dumbledore was actively protecting Harry Potter. I had always been afraid of him and kicked myself for not having figured out that part of the reason why Potter wasn't dead yet wasn't just his irritatingly good luck but the fact that he had at least one powerful supporter. Meaning that Potter probably not going to die by my hands any time soon: on the bright side, I was already coming up with a new plan. As I walked through the pitch black (it was daylight outside, but the Forbidden Forest was always dark) I considered. Dumbledore was pretty old, and as a rule I knew that he didn't approve of splitting his soul or using magical objects to extend his life. Meaning that hopefully the old man would die of old age soon. I calculated: born in the late 1800s, he must have been at least 110. Having Dumbledore die of natural causes was ideal, as it meant no suspicion would fall on me: as soon as he died, I could finish off Harry with ease. Meaning that my current focus was to murder the only other person standing in my was for the position of Dark Lord. The next steps of my plan were relatively simple. If I continued to get close to Harry my rise to the top was waterproof. His goal, like mine was to defeat Voldemort: not only this, but by the time we took down the current Dark Lord, Dumbledore would be dead and I could kill the boy. I walked back to my tent, a spring in my step.

…..

A week before term began I was lazing inside my tent. Penny had managed to pull me a further 10 metres by this point, and I was luxuriating at the change in perspective this gave me: no longer did I bask in the shade of the oak tree, but the one next to it. My tent, the inside looking like a mansion had a number of rooms inside and I was sat inside the study, reading one of the many textbooks I ordered from Flourish and Blotts for the Second Year. The information inside, of course was childishly simple and amused me, all except for the work of Gilderoy Lockhart, who intrigued me. The man was too good to be lying. As I flicked through his book, I considered whether I could draw him over to the dark side – or, alternatively, if there could be some way of harvesting his magical power for my own use. I turned the page, eager to begin the next chapter when I heard a tapping on the side of my tent. Thinking it could be a tree branch, I ignored it, only to hear it begin again. I downstairs to the front door and unzipped it. 'Can I help you?'

It was Harry, Ron and two other identical red heads I assumed were also Weasley's. I stared at them in astonishment.

'Draco, are you alright?', Harry asked. 'I read somewhere in the Daily Prophet that you're living in Azkaban, something to do with your parents? Why are you not there at the minute?'

'We tried to break you out, mate', Ron said. They were still stood outside in the cold, so I stood aside to let them in and started a fire in the grate as they leaned back into comfy chairs. 'What are you doing in the Forbidden Forest?'

'Jeff died', I shrugged. 'He's the only semi-parental figure I have there so I figured it was pointless to go back.'

Harry looked flabbergasted. 'I'm sorry for your loss Draco… but why didn't you stay somewhere like the Leaky Cauldron? This is literally the Forbidden Forest.'

'How else was I meant to train Penny?'

One of the red heads blinked at me. 'What?'

I pretended not to hear him. 'Anyway, what are you doing here?'

'We tried to break you out of that prison, I told you!', said Ron. 'We were about to go there when Harry had the idea of sending you an owl to let you know we were coming for you. It flew off in the opposite direction, we followed it and well… here we are.' He held up Harry's snowy white owl, letter still clutched in its claws, as proof. 'I'm impressed you haven't died, to be honest' he said, staring at me in disbelief. 'I think you should come home with us, somewhere you aren't in danger of being killed at any minute'.

I opened my mouth, about to decline on the basis that not only did I enjoy the experience of imminent doom, having to fight the various evil creatures was good practice for me and, besides, the Weasley's lived in a hovel, everyone knew that. However, with a quick glance at Harry, I nodded. The perfect opportunity to become his best friend, and perhaps gather a few Weasley minions to my service at the same time.

…

'And, Mr Weasley, THAT is why you shouldn't get too close to the Muggle world', I finished, digging into my fifth helping of crumble. Molly Weasley was a fantastic cook, I had to give it to her. I had only been in the Weasley hovel for the past two hours, but she had already shoved half a chicken casserole, mashed potatoes, a salad and multiple helpings of rhubarb crumble down my throat. Not that I was complaining. We were sat outside, having a pleasant discussion as the birds began their twilight chorus.

Mr Weasley gazed at me in a bemused fashion. 'Draco', he began, and then frowned slightly. 'I appreciate the warning but I do not think I am going to end up like Jeff. For one, I am neither a Dementor, and I am also uninterested in going into the profession of therapy'.

Mrs Weasley looked up from passing Ron the custard. 'I really think you ought to listen to Draco, darling' she said in a stern voice. She then gazed at me, a kind look in her eyes. 'And have some more crumble, Draco. You're looking peaky'.

Ginny piped up. 'But he's eaten nearly all of it!'

'Stop complaining, Ginny!', Mrs Weasley snapped. 'The poor boy had to live on Azkaban for eleven years and the equivalent of his father just died! He's had to live in the Forbidden Forest eating Heaven knows what' – I decided now would not be the best time to inform her of my trick house elves scheme – 'I think you can begrudge him some crumble.'

Ginny sulked as I smugly tucked into another bowl.

Later that evening.

'Draco, are you alright dear?' I nodded weakly, clutching my expanded stomach. It had swelled so much it looked like I had swallowed a football.

'It's his own fault', Ginny said bitterly. 'He ate all that crumble'.

Hi guys! Sorry for the long wait between updates, it's tough trying to balance updates with the debauched life of a university student. As I've been writing, I've been planning out some plot points for quite far ahead in this fic, so hopefully writing should be a bit faster now that I have an end goal in sight!