Twitch Plays Harry Potter

Summary: "Twitch Plays Pokemon" in Harry Potter. Where the gods are gone, anarchy reigns mostly uncontested, and the Voices consult the wisdom of a bottle of bleach. For it will make your clothing "Sparkling clean!", it says so right here on this little paper-thing right next to-... Praise the Helix!

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Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

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The Dursleys had expected a freak. The boy had after all been left there by all the other freaks, so it wasn't especially far-fetched to imagine that the boy was a freak as well.

They never expected... well, Harry Potter.

In the beginning, the child was much like any non-freak child, though its eyes were an eerie shade of green and what little hair it had in possession was freakishly disorderly. In time however, the child grew old enough to... speak. If you could call it that.

It was through the mumblings of the child that they finally realized that the way that it meandered across the room when someone wasn't present to supervise – and contain – it was related to something... 'deeper' than mere whim.

It sometimes mumbled about a man who brought a god back to life, and of a gator who set out on a quest for the god's head in vengeance. These were things the freak mumbled about. It spoke of other things as well, but beyond a peculiar hatred for ledges and stairs, they were largely unimportant and rarely reoccurring.

Of course, if anyone bothered to ask the freak where it had come up with those ridiculous stories, it would explain with wide eyes that the Voices had led those heroes on their journey, so they knew.

By the time that Harry Potter was five years old, he'd been declared completely insane. Not in a manner that allowed anyone to lock him up though, as he somehow managed to scrape by enough sane behavior to not be labeled as a danger to himself or others. But everyone knew that Harry Potter was insane.

He could pick up a rock, wander around with it for a bit, continuously looking at it with serious eyes, and then drop it in the middle of his careful study in order to wander off somewhere. He could walk sensibly along the sidewalk, only to suddenly turn around and walk straight into a nearby wall without slowing down. He mumbled weird things, and was convinced that the Voices that only he could hear would help him, though many of them seemed to have issues with agreeing on a goal.

Harry Potter was the craziest kid in Surrey.

But he still managed to be peculiarly charming to the inhabitants of Little Whinging – other than his relatives of course, because he was a freak – often listening to their troubles with a cheerful smile and offering to help them with various tasks. Obviously, nobody trusted the crazy kid with anything sharp or time-essential, because his motor-control was generally considered so far below average as to be laughable and were rarely on time for anything.

Time passed, the Dursleys hated him, Little Whinging was for some inexplicable reason fond of him, and Harry remained at large despite the Voices speaking inside of his head.

Sure, the kid had been found halfway to London at one point, seemingly having gotten himself 'trapped' at a local bus station, where he'd been wandering aimlessly for several hours – though considering it wasn't exactly 'labyrinthine' nobody could understand why his regular mumblings had devolved into silent chanting for 'democracy to progress' and 'anarchy for Lord Helix'. But it wasn't as if the kid was harming anyone, and the only disreputable person who'd tried to make a move on him had been... well, 'defeated'.

To those witnessing that particular event, they'd been moments away from interfering when the man had been dropped to the ground through a few rather vicious attacks from the child, who'd then continued his odd wanderings as if nothing had happened.

And maybe that could've been grounds for locking him up as a 'danger to society', but it'd been so obvious that the child had acted in self-defense, that no court in the world would've considered getting themselves involved beyond dismissing the matter entirely.

Finally, Harry turned eleven years old, after a week or so during which he'd carefully consulted a bottle of bleach, staring at it for seemingly hours on end, and sometimes mumbling things about how the bleach would 'cleanse the un-pure'. Which would've set off people's alarms, except it was Harry, and it was probably him merely repeating what the Voices were arguing about inside of his head. And, considering how most of those Voices had some rather unusual – and in some cases downright bizarre – senses of humor, that Harry would innocently repeat their slightly-disturbing-words every now and then was hardly cause for alarm.

Again, as Harry finally turned eleven and received an interesting letter – which he promptly studied, dropped, walked away from, picked back up, walked into a wall, studied it some more, dropped, walked out of the door, greeted their neighbor, wandered around the backyard, studied his bottle of bleach, walked back into the house through the backdoor, greeted Dudley 'good morning' for the third time, echo-mumbled an argument amongst the Voices which seemed to revolve around the idea that education was boring, walked back into the hall, locked himself briefly into the cupboard underneath the stairs, managed to pick the letter back up, studied it, put it away, wandered around the hallway for a bit, took it back out, opened it, dropped it, wandered out of the house again, paced along the streets for a bit, started a one-sided conversation with a nearby dog, cut off mid-sentence in order to study the bottle of bleach some more, walked back into the house with eery determination and efficiency, picked up the letter, read it, and then promptly turned around and walked face-first into a wall.

Those few, rare moments of eery efficiency were something that Harry apparently called 'democracy' which consisted of him doing as the Voices told him only after they'd voted about it for a bit. The Voices apparently didn't like using it, and seemed much happier when they could simply yell their own instructions at Harry and hope to be heard over the crowd. Which in practice meant that Harry would wander around aimlessly until the Voices finally got lucky or frustrated to the point of resorting to 'democracy' to achieve their goals, and then promptly abandoning it for the chaos of 'anarchy'.

Needless to say, there was a reason that Harry Potter was considered the craziest kid in Surrey, and it wasn't because the Dursleys had really been trying to muddy his reputation. The kid had managed to achieve that title all on his own.

Well, the Voices had obviously played their part, but they weren't the type to take credit.

They were far too busy trying to figure out how they were going to spin staring at a bottle of bleach for hours on end into some decent lore. So far, most were leaning towards it being something that they used to poison some guy called 'Voldemort', because he certainly wouldn't 'know' about the chemical properties present in it.

It was probably a good thing that Harry had long since learned to simply ignore most of what the Voices argued about.

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A/n: Written because the lore of TPP amuses me to no end, and to bring the whole thing to the attention of anyone who remains unaware of it, now that we're hours away from finally starting on Pokemon Emerald of Generation 3, after nearly a week of insanity-inducing games in the downtime between Generations and something like 48 hours of staring at Emerald's title screen. Streamer-senpai can be surprisingly sadistic...

Because of the short time schedule between inspiration and deadline (as far as allowing anyone to look up TPP and join us for Emerald before it kicks off), this one is probably going to be a bit rough around the edges, so apologies for that.