Tags: Not-Completely-Sane Harry, Abandoned Harry, Twin Story, Alive Potters, More TBA
Inspirations: All twin HP stories, Zetsu (from Naruto), USA Today video about Christine Pattillo
Disclaimer: I enrolled in a high school Psychology class once. Safe to say I know nothing about personality disorders.

Harry Potter and the Second Personality

Wool's Orphanage wasn't an average-looking orphanage. Surrounding it was a high, pointed fence and a creaky gate so rusted, passersby were surprised it didn't blow away in the wind. The building itself was made of worn brick that on a sunny day wouldn't look dark, but on a overcast day (a majority of the days in London) was ominous, and it was no wonder adoption rates were low at Wool's.

Most children that came to Wool's Orphanage never left Wool's Orphanage, and that was very true for Harry Evans.

Harry had resided at Wool's since he was six years old when his Aunt and Uncle had thrown him out of the car and driven off without a word. He really should've known his Aunt was lying when she said they were only getting ice cream.

After all, Surrey's Soft Cream Ice Cream shop was only ten minutes away from the house.

Everything had happened so fast Harry still wasn't sure about the details, even four years later.

One moment he was being bullied at the school yard, the next he was standing in Kitchen of his family's home with a bloody nose. Aunt Petunia had screamed, fainted, woken up while screaming (although that's probably because his face had been only inches away from hers), and threw him in the cupboard under the stairs in less than a minute. She had locked it and dialed Uncle Vernon still screaming albeit coherently by this point.

"They lied! They lied! He does it! It, Vernon! He is a freak like them!" She had screeched. "You need to come home, now! I can't be alone with him; he might do something!" There was a break. "NO! Right NOW! We need to get rid of him RIGHT NOW!"

The phone was hung up, the front door was slammed shut as Aunt Petunia exited the house, and Harry held his badly bruised body and bleeding nose in anguish, wondering why his beloved Aunt and Uncle had forsaken him.

Sooner than later, his Uncle had come home to unlock him from the prison under the stairs (little did he know the first of many prisons), and escorted him to the car with a peculiar expression.

His aunt, whose eyes bulged and nostrils flared with the same peculiar expression on her face, had said mechanically, "I'm sorry for earlier, Harry. Since you've stopped bleeding, let's go for ice cream to make up for it."

"It's… it's okay, Aunt Petunia. I didn't mean to scare you. Should I change first?" He'd glanced down at his dirty clothes dotted with blood.

"No, just as you are is fine. No one will see. Hurry, get in the car," she had demanded firmly, eyes skirting back and forth around the neighborhood.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, just in the car. Now."

"But what about Dudley? He loves ice cream. Are we going to get him from—?"

"Just get in the car! Right now! Before somebody sees you! Do you want ice cream or not?!"

Harry had scurried inside the car, careful not to get too much grime in Uncle Vernon's new Audi 100 (since he knew how much his uncle loved that car).

The rest was history.

And that's how he'd found himself in Wool's Orphanage, betrayed, abandoned, furious and imprisoned.

Well, actually, the imprisonment had come gradually.

It had all started with that teleporting incident in Primary school and devolved from there. It was like that one, fantastical moment had opened up a gateway of strange and mysterious things. Suddenly, things broke when he was angry, his hair grew overnight if he wanted it long, he could turn people's hair colors if he was bored, healing was a reality but only if concentrated hard enough, and he'd gained the ability to speak with snakes.

He was pretty sure when he was five years old he wasn't able to do that.

It was as amazing as it was damning, because as incredible as he thought it was the matrons didn't agree.

The first time they witnessed his abilities, they questioned it but didn't react. After all, Mrs. Johnson was nearly blind and halfway senile at the age of 74. Who could honestly say she had actually cropped his hair the way she said?

The second time Bradley Graham had maliciously mashed pink bubblegum into Harry's hair (which resulted in another cut by Mrs. Johnson by the way) and called him a poof so Harry had turned Bradley's hair pink and grew his hair down to his toes. Nobody could prove it was Harry but the matrons watched him a little more suspiciously.

The third time a group of horrible kids was teasing him about being abandoned at six, reasoning his family thought he was evil and a freak, and for reasons Harry never thought to analyze, it made him livid. The windows exploded and glass sprinkled the cramped hallway, and Harry had sworn he didn't do anything but somehow, everyone had had shards of glass imbedded in their skin while he had remained unharmed. The matrons hadn't believed him.

"It's just like that boy," one ancient matron had hissed.

Whispered murmurs of "devil-child" had circulated quickly and Harry had found himself regulated to his room more often than not. Until one day Oliver Wick threw a snake in his room as a cruel joke. Perhaps Oliver had expected to hear screaming, but Harry had surprised himself and probably Oliver too when instead of screaming, there was talking. Between him and the snake.

Conversation had been dull but on the bright side Harry convinced it not to eat him. At some point, Oliver had opened the door to peak at what he was expecting to be chaos, and the snake turned on him, hungry.

Just to be clear, Harry hadn't told the snake to attack Oliver and he'd swear that on his dead parents' grave, but when the snake asked if the other boy could be eaten instead Harry had shrugged.

It was a small snake, maybe a half-meter. The worst it could do was bite off a couple toes, or so Harry reasoned.

Except Oliver had wailed bloody murder (snake en route), found the nearest matron, convinced her Harry had set the snake on him with devil-speak, and still lost a toe.

Apparently, the garden snake had bitten clear-through the shoes and ripped off the pinky toe. Harry had never gotten the chance to see it. With haste the matrons threw him out of Wool's, no longer willing to co-habitat with a devil-child, except the police saw a shivering nine-year old in the middle of February and immediately brought him to the nearest place: Wool's Orphanage.

So instead, Harry had been relocated to the dark, damp cellar where broken furniture was discarded in hopes it could one day be salvage. He'd been given a bucket and chained to the wall and told to 'make it work.'

Soon after, a man had visited him, introducing himself as Father Creed. He'd chanted prayers from the Bible, a small black book similar to the one Aunt Petunia had at her bedside,and alternated between English and another language Harry had never heard of.

He'd flung water on Harry and yelled, "the power of Christ compels you!"

Again and again and again.

Father Creed had visited everyday before dinner (which was literally thrown at him by a matron). Harry had counted a total of 37 times before the man got bored and never returned.

Father Creed wasn't the best company but he was consistent company, and with his departure Harry had been isolated in darkness that was only interrupted by one meal a day.

Harry had been lonely and confused. Lonely because even though nobody in the orphanage had liked him, he had still had the opportunity to be around people, and confused because why did people hate him? It wasn't like Harry could control whatever strangeness was happening.

Occasionally, the matrons would bring someone new to the cellar and they'd do the same thing Father Creed did before getting bored (much quicker than Father Creed).

However, the fewer Fathers that came around, the more a new type of 'treatment' was used.

Mrs. Ramsey called it beating the evil out. Apparently, she had been planning diabolically (no pun intended) for months. She had convinced the Head Matron the cellar was appropriate lodgings for fledging devil-children, had been in charge of his meals so had intentionally given him less than enough to weaken him, and slowly weened Wool's off of the Priest visits.

Because although she had claimed to be a woman of God, she had felt it necessary to take matters into her own hands. Literally.

And Harry had to admit, her plan had hit the mark. He'd lost track of the time and days had blurred together in a mass of pain and crying and anger because he was too weak to do anything. He could feel something moving beneath his skin, but it wasn't in anticipation per usual. It rolled like sludge, sluggish and heavy.

It was the first time he'd felt hopeless since he was six years old.

It was jarring and desperation had broken through the surface when it had sunk in he was truly trapped. He couldn't just teleport to Aunt Petunia's kitchen. He couldn't heal himself like he'd healed his bruises and cuts before. He couldn't break the chain and run. He could barely use the bucket.

And something broke in Harry that day as he'd laid on the old wooden floors of the cellar of Wool's Orphanage. It was like a dam being overpowered by rushing rapids and destroying anything it's way to make a passageway. It had been exhausting and Harry hadn't woken up for what felt like days if his stomach had been anything to go by.

"You're finally awake."

Harry had startled but beyond the twitch of his left leg didn't move.

"Answer me. I know you're awake." The voice had been deeper than his own, gravelly and accented differently from his too. The strange thing was it had been coming out of his own mouth, except he wasn't controlling it.

It had been surreal, like an out of body experience, and Harry had felt as if he was looking at himself interact with himself. It had been beyond his comprehension, so Harry had chosen to ignore it.

"Wh-o are y-ou?" His own voice had been gravelly from disuse and dehydration.

The voice had hummed, taking control of Harry's vocal functions. "I suppose... you may call me Tom."

It had been strange at first, but over time Tom became an integral part of Harry's life. After all, he wasn't alone anymore. Even when the matrons threw Harry out of the orphanage for a second time and had pleaded with the city to lock him away because he was mentally ill, Harry didn't complain once because Tom was with him.

The world was so much warmer when there was someone to see it with. Especially when strange things happened.

"You saw it too, didn't you? The owl?"

"I saw it."

"And you're reading this letter too, aren't you?"

"I read it."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. "Knew we weren't crazy."

"We are," Tom corrected. "We're just not hallucinating… yet."

"Ever." Harry said with finality. "We should go there. To Hogwarts. Where d'you think we buy this stuff?"

Tom began tapping Harry's fingers against the bedside table. "There must be a shop for Witchcraft and Wizardry, and since we've never heard of it, it must be a secret. Perhaps we should contact the school…"

Harry looked into the distance at the small speck that was the owl that had dropped off the letter. "Do you think it'll get there by regular post?"

Tom shook Harry's head. "Probably not."

"Maybe I can ask around…?" Harry suggested. "Someone has to of heard of it."

"Not if it's a secret, dimwit!"

"I'm not a dimwit, dimwit!"

"You are a dimwit, dimwit!"

"Am not! I'll prove it!" Harry jumped off of the bed and headed for the door.

"Just where do you think you're going?!" Tom used Harry's hand to grab onto the bedding.

"To prove I'm not a dimwit and see who knows about Hogwarts! Let go!" Harry yanked his arm to no avail.

"We can't go through the door! They'll stop us!"

Harry settled immediately and stopped struggling. "You're right." He glanced toward the open window blocked by bars that were only wide enough to stick an arm through.

"No." Tom denied quickly.

"But we have—No!—to at least try—No!—It's emergency plan Delta! We have—Harry!—Tom, we have to!"

Tom groaned, rolling Harry's eyes. "Fine. But I hope you know there's no coming back after this? They'll put us in padded solitary."

"Yeah, yeah. Ready?" Harry held out a palm towards the window. "Three, two, one…"

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated on the bars. Metal squealed against each other until it was a giant heap of twisted scraps.

"Did we do it? I don't want to look."

Tom opened Harry's eyes and strode to the window. "We did it—YES!—but do you know how to climb a tree?"

Harry's excitement stuttered as Tom rested Harry's foot against the window seal. "Er…"

"Thought not. Let me take care of this and whatever you do, don't interrupt."

Harry crossed his finger over his heart and relaxed. With the skills of a monkey, Tom had Harry down in less than three minutes before taking off in a run.

"What's the plan?"

Harry stopped the running and looked around. It was 3 o'clock in the afternoon and the streets of London were bursting with life because of the pleasant July weather.

Cupping his hands to mouth, Harry shouted. "Excuse me! Excuse me!" His voice was unnaturally loud in such a crowded and noisy area and it drew much of the passersby attention. He raised his crumpled letter and waved it around wildly.

Tom attempted to whisper, "Harry stop—! We got a letter today from a school called Hogwarts and mphff mandjif uh lo—" Tom slapped Harry's hand over his mouth.

Harry ripped it off with his other hand. "And I wanted to know if anyone can help me please find it!"

There were mutterings of "loon" and "nutcase" but amidst them was something else. There was the sound of popcorn in the area and people with sticks appeared, muttering strange things.

"What are they saying, Tom?"

Tom narrowed Harry's eyes, straining to hear. "It sounds like Obliviate Mag…"

Tom trailed off as a stick became level with Harry's eyes.

"Petrificus totalus!"

Harry's body seized up and he wasn't sure what happened from there.