One day, Boy snapped.
He was in the middle of making breakfast, at a young age, for the Dursleys. The family which he lived with. As far as he was concerned, he wasn't related to these people and as far as they were concerned, they weren't related to him. He didn't know his own name, having just been called Boy or Freak for as long as he could remember. He was 'home schooled' in the fact that they didn't want him to contaminate others with his freakishness.
Whatever that meant.
A virtual slave, without a name, and he was getting tired of being used and abused by these people. Boy had been taught how to read and write from an early age after complaining that it would be considered freaky that he didn't know. He learned how to garden and cook for his owners since they were too lazy to do it themselves. But as he grew and started to read things around the house, he grew more and more agitated by what he found out and learned.
Some nights, a dictionary was all he could read since he had stolen one from the living room and stashed it under his blankets in the cupboard under the stairs.
But indeed, one day, Boy snapped.
He had discovered, one day, he had an actual name and not just Boy or Freak. He had found out that when the crazy cat lady across the yard had watched him for his owners. She kept calling him Hairy, and he proclaimed that he wasn't Hairy as the only hair he had was on the top of his head, or would've been if one of the Dursleys hadn't shaved his head.
The Crazy Cat Lady told Boy that his name was actually Harry, not Hairy, not Boy, and most assuredly not Freak.
Boy cried for about five minutes when he discovered he wasn't Boy but Harry Potter and promised not to tell his owners about it until he could finally free himself from being their servant.
A week later on his tenth birthday, in the middle of cooking some bacon for breakfast, the little fat Dursley forced Harry's hand onto the burner just to hear him scream in pain.
That was when Boy...no...Harry, snapped.
For the past week, he had been ridiculed and beaten because his hair had grown back overnight, for not having the chores done faster, and for not having the food cooked to perfection despite the fact that every time his back was turned the little fat Dursley would mess up his things.
The burner was just the last straw as Harry did something and the little fat Dursley was launched away from Harry with a large bang and ended up slamming his side into the table while the other two Dursley's watched in shock and then anger. The large fat Dursley got up, his face turning purple with rage.
A voice in Harry's head told him what to do and he did it.
Harry was the closest to all the cutlery, which meant the knives, which included some of the large carving ones that were almost a foot long and very sharp. The moment the big fat Dursley got close, Harry reached suddenly for the knife and lashed out violently with his good hand.
The knife cut into the big fat Durlsey's hand, severing flesh and muscle down to the bone on several fingers, spraying blood onto the knife and by extension, even Harry's little face as he covered backwards clutching at the knife and shifting into the corner towards the exit. The big fat Dursley howled in pain as blood dripped onto the ground while the little fat Dursley was unconscious and laying on his side near the shifted table.
The giraffe necked Dursley immediately called the Police and an ambulance, not realizing that she had made a very large mistake.
She hadn't noticed when Harry's eyes turned blue and a sneer crossed his face before it all changed back to normal when the police showed up.
A day later, the Dursley's were under arrest for abuse, neglect, and various other things. Harry was in counseling and the house was locked down and being gone over with a fine tooth comb. Harry fell asleep at the police station, since he was being watched by a couple different officers since none of them wanted such a little boy to be unattended.
The next day found Harry waking up from the giraffe necked Dursley's screeching on the couch back home, everything had been as it was. The big fat Dursley did have a scar across his fingers, but knew he had gotten it from one of the drills at work, not from Harry lashing out to protect himself. The police hadn't shown up, and when Harry sneaked a call on the telephone, there was no evidence of anything to the police or the ambulance trip from the day previously. It didn't help that the new computers in use had been on the fritz and there were no copies of the paperwork.
Harry's birthday violence did not apparently happen, but the voice inside of his head said it did, and he'd be ready for next time.
Things were back to the status quo until the middle of the next spring. The big fat Dursley came home angry and before Harry could do anything, he was beaten down, thrown against the wall and then locked in his cupboard with a bruised throat. The voice told him to fight back, but eventually had faded away midway through the beating, and Harry took on an air of serenity as he was beaten for being a Freak that had cost a sale.
The next day, Harry didn't speak. If any of the Dursley's had looked closely at him, they would've seen the bruise on Harry's throat had faded into a thin scar like line across his throat. His hair was also smoother and longer and his eyes were no longer their usual bright emerald color but a dark hazel. Harry moved differently throughout the day, not speaking, his face almost absent in emotion. The food was a step up, the gardening done slightly faster and even better than before.
The rest of April was exactly like that, until one day Harry woke up and was back to his usual self, his hair an unruly mess, his eyes the same emerald color they'd always been and the scar like line across his throat was gone. He had looked at the calendar and noticed he had lost two weeks of memories, but none of the Dursleys had said a thing.
Instead, Harry felt the other voice once more, it was just saying the same thing over and over and over again in his head. 'Poor Sheila.'
As usual, Harry did not verbalize or think of a response.
Spring eventually faded to summer, and near the end of July was when the Letter came. The moment he saw it in his hands was the selfsame moment he heard the little fat Dursley's voice claiming the Freak had a letter, he dashed to the bathroom up the stairs, locking the door, turning on the light and pulling out a knife he had hidden there the year before. "They're not going to touch me...not going to touch me, not going to touch me..." Harry repeated as a mantra as he slowly opened the letter and read it.
Mr H. Potter
The Cupboard under the Stairs
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey
Harry stared at the letter for a moment, a serene calm coming over him as he blinked at the letter in his one hand. Was this a joke and was someone stalking him? With a faint shudder, he carefully opened the letter, ignoring the furious banging on the door and the shouts coming from the big fat Dursley.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY
Harry stared at that for a moment, wondering if this was nothing but a big hoax, and if so, he was going to be in for a world of hurt...
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Mr. Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Cracked. Most definitely cracked and insane. A load of rubbish and whatnot. He did fine the list on a second piece of whatever it was though, it sure wasn't paper though.
That was when a steel toed boot smashed through the door and Harry's eyes went wide. He wouldn't be able to stab through steel with the knife he had. The internal calm and serenity he had from earlier was being replaced quickly with panic and fear. Without thinking, Harry stuffed the second piece of whatever into the pocket in his pants.
The foot was quickly removed, but Harry ignored the roar of anger coming from the other side of the door as he scrambled up and opened the bathroom window to see if he could escape from there. What he didn't expect to see was an Owl waiting just on the outside of the sill. Looking between the door and the foot that managed to smash another hole through it, Harry quickly opened a large cut on his forearm, whimpering in pain, with the knife and wrote in blood on the back of the letter.
Help!
Harry thrust the letter at the owl who took it between one outstretched, clawed, foot before flickering up and off the window sill as Harry started to climb up the towards the window, using the toilet for some extra help as the door smashed its way open.
"Freak!" Was the big fat Dursley's roar of rage as Harry spun and threw the knife violently at him, causing Dursley to lunge out of the way back out of the bathroom. It gave Harry enough time to pull himself out the window and land on the roofing tile towards the backyard. Harry knew there was blood everywhere, ripping down his fingers on both hands now and especially down his left arm where the cut still bled.
Slowly, Harry edged his way towards the side of the house, ignoring the big fat Dursley's yelling until the window closed sharply to cut off his voice.
Nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide.
Harry just wanted to be somewhere else, somewhere different. As he inched towards the shadows in the side of the house in the early morning he felt something tug at him. The voice was back, telling him to give in and to trust himself. For the first time, Harry acknowledged the voice before everything shifted. The last thing Harry heard was a single cackling laughter while moving towards the shadow given off by the rooftop.
The sensation of falling and then the boy known as Harry Potter disappeared into the shadow as if he hadn't been there at all. The only telltale mark of his passageway was the blood still left upon the scene of his departure.
No one noticed the look of Arabella Figg and her look of horror as she watched from her window before running with all speed back to her living room.
The shadows shifted and seem to pool around the darkened alley, twisting and contorting as a young man stepped out, his eyes blue and cold. His hair short and dirty blonde, though long in the front to cover his forehead. He stood of average height and carried himself as if he was of importance. His arm left forearm had a large cut upon it, but it had recently stopped bleeding it would have seen. His clothes seemed to be to small and with a faint sneer passing his lips, the shadows shifted upwards and wrapped about him as if they were a cloak to be worn. He did reach inside of this new cloak and pulled out a piece of parchment, giving it a once over and shook his head.
He didn't quite know where he was, yet the place felt familiar. He didn't know where he was, no, but his Truth did. If only vaguely at that, a memory that was deep, gone, and really buried deep within. He gave his surroundings a once over as his eyes settled on what looked like a bar or, even a tavern of all sorts of things.
Walking closer, he gave the name of the place a once over and let out a bark of a laugh. "The Leaky Cauldron?" His voice was sardonic and amused as he stepped in, still holding onto the parchment tightly. He ignored the people walking nearby since they ignored him, none of them even noticing the place to begin with.
The inside of was smaller than he expected, grimy and grubby looking to boot. It was almost to early, but there were a couple of patrons inside eating breakfast while one patron was smoking a long pipe. He seemed like a regular type of guy within the establishment. The barman was slowly running a rag over the countertop as he stepped close to it. "Can I help you?"
"I need to get into Diagon Alley, don't know the way in." He held out the parchment to show the reason.
"Ah, sure, follow me...uh..."
"Lucas." Lucas smiled, giving the first random name that popped in his head. It wasn't worth it to give his Truth's name since he was only a part of him and, again, not the Truth. "Just Lucas for now."
"Bit tall and old for a First Year, aren't you? Name's Tom." Lucas gave Tom a singular look, giving the bald man a once over and shrugged it off.
"I don't go, personally. My younger brother is sick, you see?" Lucas lied once again with what seemed like practiced ease. "Parents are gone for the week, figured I'd get his things for him myself."
"Ah, Squib, huh?" Tom nodded his head in understanding while Lucas gave him a fake half smile that was wry with amusement. "Here, I'll show you how." They walked to the back of the bar and out into an alleyway. "Just remember here..." Tom started showing him. "...three up and two across." With that he pulled out a stick that was about a foot long and tapped a specific brick three times in a row.
The brick he had touched quivered - it wriggled - in the middle, a small hole appeared - it grew wider and wider - a second later they were facing an archway large enough for a giant of a man, an archway to a cobbled street which twisted and turned out of sight.
"...This is Diagon Alley." Tom the barman nodded. "You can get out the same way, or call the Knight Bus. I'd suggest going to Gringotts to pull money from your Vault since this is your first time here."
"Thank you Tom." Lucas said with the same fake half smile, giving the old bartender a nod before striding confidentially forwards, leaving Tom behind with the entrance to the Alley closing behind him.
"I need a weapon." Lucas finally murmured to himself as he looked around the Alley. It was a lot more populated than the bar; the hustle and bustle was a bit much more than what he would have figured, especially when compared to where he had been before, especially back there. Lucas cursed under his breath as he strode towards a building with the words Gringotts plastered right out in the open. He completely ignored the words on a plaque at the entrance as he didn't really care about it. People of all sorts were standing in various lines. He looked around at the tellers and arched an eyebrow at the small creatures standing there.
Another soft curse escaped his breath as he watched the line slowly move as he was wondering exactly how to go about this. It took about half an hour before Lucas found himself at the front of the line he was in, looking at a Goblin who was glaring at him.
Lucas just glared back, his blue eyes going flat for a moment. "I need some information." Lucas finally said neutrally.
"About?" The creature responded just as neutrally.
"New to this Wizarding business as it were." Lucas held up the parchment detaining the items he would need to buy. "I was told to come here about a Vault or whathaveyou."
"Name?" The creature replied tersely.
Lucas leaned in very closely, his eyes half-lidden. "Harry Potter."
The creature stared at Lucas for a moment before turning around and barking something out in a strange language that Lucas couldn't quite understand, a steady smirk grew on his lips as a couple armed creatures strode forward. "If you really are who you say you are, you won't mind coming with us then, will you?"
One of Lucas' came out from the cloak of shadows he was still wearing and motioned for them to lead on. He did catch one of the weirdo's in robes muttering something about blood thirsty goblins.
The Goblins, Lucas supposed, lead him towards one of the many different and varied doors, standing guard outside as Lucas entered the room by himself with a roll of his eyes. It took another five minutes before another Goblin showed up. He was very old looking, but hardly frail, in fact he looked quite annoyed yet amused at the situation. Walking around the desk and chair that were within the room and sat at the second chair behind the desk. "And what can I do for you today?" The goblin sneered, not even giving his name.
"Again. Information about all of this. I'm new here." Lucas dropped the parchment which he noticed had some blood on it. "Wizards, Witchcraft, money, Harry Potter. Vaults, all that assorted nonsense."
The Goblin gave Lucas another once over and looked at the parchment for a moment. Lucas noted the Goblin sneered once he was finished reading. "And why should I believe anything you've said about whom you are? You look nothing like a Potter. Blue eyes were not a part of the bloodline. Nor are you human, I can smell that."
Lucas rolled his eyes slightly. "I am and I'm not. I am nothing and no one, but I am also Harry Potter. I took the name of Lucas on a whim not but an hour ago."
"Then you must have the scar to prove it." The Goblin looked down at his hand disinterestedly.
"I've many scars, you'll have to be specific. I've just acquired a new one today from slashing open my arm to write in blood." Lucas commented idly as he stared back at the Goblin with his own indifferent eyes, watching slightly amused as the Goblin's eyes snapped to Lucas' forehead. "Ah, you mean that one." Lucas did shift his hand up and lifted the blonde hair to reveal a lightning bolt shaped scar over his right eye. "The shift wouldn't change that one as much as I had hoped."
"Metamorph." The Goblin said after a moment of thought.
"Yes and no." Lucas finally agreed. "I am separate and there are others. His mind and soul has been fractured. His blood is my blood, his memories are my memories, but my blood is not his, nor are my memories...yet." Lucas spoke faintly, another glint of amusement. "I suppose that's what happens when people try to kill you on a weekly basis."
The Goblin shot Lucas a startled glance before the sneer settled itself firmly on his face again. "We'll need a blood sample since you obviously don't have your key."
"Key?" Lucas asked idly. "True. I know nothing at all. I think you can deal with my Truth now, I tire of this."
The shadows that had been wrapped around Lucas slithered down onto the ground, joining with the rest, the room darkening slightly before shifting back to normal. Lucas features melting and shifting away as his frame shrunk and shivered away to leave a rather malnourished and pale looking boy with green eyes that flared suddenly with a burst of power. The final change was from Lucas' pale arms to Harry's blood soaked ones, the cut no longer looking as healed as it was.
"Mr. Potter, I presume?" The Goblin asked mildly, slightly impressed by what had gone on.
Harry's eyes opened wide as he looked around fearfully, then at the creature before him as he backed further into his chair for half a second before his emotions calmed and he nodded a bit fearfully. After all, he still wasn't even eleven years old yet. "...And you are?"
"Boltclaw." The Goblin responded with an amused smirk. "Welcome to the Bank. What do you recall?"
"Ah. Cutting my arm open, writing for help in the bathroom, giving it to that owl, and then falling." Harry responded with a faint frown as he started to relax, a feeling of calm permeating his entire being. "Everything else, a bur, but I met...Tom? A barkeep? Then now."
"Excellent." Boltclaw responded. The Goblin pulled out a piece of parchment and slid it across the desk with a small pin. "Gringotts needs a drop of blood to ensure you are whom you say you are and to give you the best service you can receive."
"What's a little more bloodshed?" Harry asked airily, his voice squeaking a bit as he tried to hide his nervousness behind a failed facade of bravado. He grimaced slightly as he looked at his own hands before taking the pin, blood covered both of them, his own blood nonetheless. He brushed away the dried blood that was flaked to his skin and made a small cut with the pin on a fingertip, dropping a few drops of blood onto the parchment.
Boltclaw barked out a couple of orders when he received the parchment back, an armed goblin wandering in and giving a startled glance at Harry before Boltclaw waved it off before speaking rapidly in the same language before the Goblin ran out with the parchment. "You shall receive a new key momentarily, Mr. Potter, is there anything else I can do for you today?" The ancient looking Goblin looked interestedly at him."
"Ah...this isn't all some sort of cracked hoax, is it?" Harry finally asked, getting a nod in response before he slumped down in his chair. "How much money do I have?"
"You would be considered moderately wealthy, Mr. Potter." Boltclaw responded. "Your Father came from a wealthy family and everything was pretty much left to you. You won't have to work a day in your life and you'll have enough money left over for your children to pretty much the same."
Harry paused and stared at the Goblin for a moment before he started to curse loudly and angrily. "I was lied to! They told me my parents were no good bums and drunks and died in a car crash! I'll kill them!" Harry suddenly cut off his rant as he slumped even further into his chair. "Fine. Sorry. Thank you. How many pounds do I have in my vault specifically?"
"We use a different monetary system in the Wizarding World, Mr. Potter." Boltclaw responded. "As I am not your Account Holder, I do not have immediate access to that information, but that is what is being received right now. I will tell you the conversion rate. We use Gold Galleons, Silver Sickles and Bronze Knuts. 29 Knuts to a Sickle, 17 Sickles to a Galleon. A Galleon is about five pounds sterling after conversion."
"So, how many Knuts to a Galleon?" Harry asked.
"493."
"Ah." Harry responded after a moment, blinking a few times. "That'd be a good reason that it'd be worth a fiver." Harry mumbled, scratching at the dried blood on his arm, flaking it away even more. "Sorry about the mess."
Boltclaw just waved it off as another Goblin came in, swiftly handing him a piece of paper before jogging back out of the room. "Here we go. Your Vault number is 687. Rounded down you have about 600,000 Galleons all said and done.
Harry choked for a moment on air as he repeated that out loud, converting it. "...three million pounds."
"Yes, like I said, moderately wealthy, you do manage to scrape your way into the top thousand wealthiest members of Europes Wizarding Society." Boltclaw nodded. "Though, you do make a sizeable income from obtained businesses and literary works."
"...You'll have to explain that one to me in plain English, Boltclaw."
"They have books about you, fiction stories specifically. You are a National Hero in Britain and the Isles. Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived."
Now if he was anyone else, Harry probably would've done the right thing and pass out there and then from the shock. However, he was whom he was and he tensed suddenly. "I'm not sure if I like that really." he mumbled under his breath before giving Boltclaw another flat look. "National Hero, right. Then why was I dumped off at a home that hates me, left to rot, be beaten, starved, and such? Whatever, don't answer that." Harry took a deep breath and scratched at the cut on his forearm idly since it was itching. "Maybe I should move to North America, I hear it's a nice place to live."
Boltclaw looked almost alarmed at that, especially since, all things considered, that amount of money was still a sizeable sum and if it was the fault of someone, there would be hell to pay and he sure as hell wasn't going to take the fall for it. "Perhaps you might use it to your advantage?"
Harry nodded absently. "I need to get myself a home and someone to help. Someone to help me learn all of...this." Harry waved out his bloodied arm.
"There are places available and for sale all along Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley." Boltclaw offered but Harry shook his head at that. "Agreed, too busy. Hogsmeade is a small village near the school you'll be attending, I'm sure you'll be able to find something there, even if you need to buy someone out. I can have that done, for a fee."
"How much of a fee, specifically?" Harry eyed the Goblin for a moment.
"A small percentage of course." Boltclaw smiled greedily.
"Allocate...uhh...fifty thousand galleons to this." Harry said with a faint shrug. "Probably more than what I'll need to spend to buy a home, but I'll need furniture as well. Can you or someone from Gringotts do that for me?"
"You won't need to spend that much, Mr. Potter." Boltclaw said after a second.
"Well, whatever doesn't get spent can go back into the vault. You said a small percentage right? Well, you get this done today, how's a thousand galleons to you yourself sound? Or is, er, that not enough?"
Boltclaw had his own chance to choke. He started to shake his head vehemently before he got himself under control. "Mr. Potter, it'll be a pleasure to have this handled as soon as possible, it will be done before the end of today."
"Really? Wicked." Harry grinned happily, still not sure what he was doing, but the voice in his head had started to talk again and he was following the very useful suggestions. "I'm going to need some money to go shopping and all that rot I suppose."
Authors Note: What is this? I have no clue. Crazy and MPD Harry for one. Another idea that was from...somewhere, I don't remember. This was going to be a lot more violent though. It's certainly one of the longer and more interesting pieces I stopped working on while I've been writing my main fics too.
I was leaning more towards lots of melee weaponry, but small concealable stuff, no big fancy Gryffindor sword for Harry. But he was going to hack and slash his way through those that were out to get him, leaving a path of corpses in his wake. Totally was heading towards Dark!Harry but not Evil. Also, Bastard Dumbles. XD
The other 'personalities' were going to be lifted from different series as well. Lucas up there was a slightly more intelligent Naruto, Sheila was going to be a mute Kasumi from Ranma1/2, and the next personality that was going to show up was going to be a male version of Gasai Yuno from Mirai Nikki.
