Summary: Harry Potter is a wizard, which surprises him. But Harry Potter is also a Multiple, which surprises everyone.

Harry Potter belongs to J.K.Rowling. This is fan fiction.

The Many Faces of Adira Potter

By = Fayanora

 

Chapter One: Feeling Sic

 

Harry Potter was awoken by the sound of banging on the ceiling above him as his cousin Dudley stomped and screamed at him. It was Dudley's birthday, and this made Harry dread the day even more. But, meek little slave that his aunt and uncle had made of him, he got up and went about the business of cooking breakfast for his relatives. At least it being Dudley's birthday, Harry would have one day away from them when Dudley got taken to the zoo. True, it meant he would have to put up with Mrs. Figg's many cats and her obsession over them, but that would be a welcome respite from cleaning and gardening. His life was such that he felt like he could cry all the time, but he'd stopped being able to do so years back. So anything that made him feel a little less miserable was good to him.

Thankfully, he managed to cook the food without burning anything, and his aunt and uncle seemed satisfied. Well, they seemed like they could find nothing to complain about but telling him to comb his hair, anyway. That was practically a cheerful 'Hello' for them, though.

Dudley, of course, was a spoiled little brat. Where Harry was the secret shame of the family, Dudley was the golden boy who could do no wrong, even though he was morbidly obese, a nasty bully, and a spoiled rotten brat. But to Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, he was perfect.

His very shit might as well be made of gold bouillon, they way they carry on about the great lump,

came the inner commentary of the sardonic aspect of his mind. He almost snorted with laughter, but luckily held it in before it could escape.

It's very sad, the way they treat him,
said another part of his mind, one that sounded motherly.

Oh?


asked the Sardonic Harry voice.

Yes. That is not a healthy weight, to say nothing of his personality. And everything he's witnessed them do to you...

He sighed. He knew, of course, that his situation wasn't normal. He knew it wasn't normal for one child to be worked half to death, abused, and neglected while the other one got everything the other didn't get. He knew his aunt and uncle were messed up in the head. Of course, there was nothing to be done about that; he was too afraid of retribution to report the situation to an adult. Too afraid that instead of being taken away from the Dursleys, he'd end up beaten to death. Or worse; beaten to within an inch of death and forced to work through the pain.

So when Mrs. Figg was indisposed to watch him, and none of the others the Dursleys could count on to keep the secret were able to watch him, and they reluctantly let him come to the zoo with them rather than let him have free reign of the house, he knew it was too good to be true.

The whole time there, he kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. Every time something good would happen, like he got a lemon ice lolly because it was easier than explaining to the zoo employee why he wasn't allowed one, or he got to eat a giant ice cream because Dudley wasn't satisfied with its size, he just
knew
something bad was going to happen. And the better things went, the worse he knew the end result would be. Still, a part of him did dare to hope, to dream, to be a little happy.

He ended up in the reptile house, looking with fascination at the snakes and other reptiles, but Dudley and his friend Piers were being prats and banging on the glass, among other annoying things. Normally frightened or resigned at this behavior, he felt an inexplicable surge of annoyance, even anger. He glared at them as they went across the room, then sourly looked over at the snake they'd been bothering.

“Sorry about that,” he said in a voice that was his but slightly different; he recognized it as Sardonic Harry speaking aloud. “Stupid prat does worse to me, though, so count your blessings.”

The snake looked up at him, actually lifting its head as though it understood him.

“What? You can't understand me, can you?”

The snake looked momentarily confused, then nodded.

“Oh. Well, stranger stuff has happened to me, so okay. Let's go with that. Where you from?”

The snake pointed its tail at the sign that said it was from Brazil.

“Brazil, eh? What was that like?”

The snake once again pointed. Harry read the sign again, which was getting difficult. He took his glasses off and it cleared up, which he thought was odd, but he was used to weird things happening by now. And he was talking to a snake, which was very weird indeed.

“Ah, bred in captivity. Yeah, I know how that feels. I never knew my parents either.”

Just then, Piers shouted that the snake was doing something interesting, and he and Dudley pushed Harry aside. Harry felt a surge of rage, glaring with clenched teeth at the two idiots. As he did, the glass disappeared, and the two boys screamed in surprise.

Feeling a vindictive pleasure he'd never felt before, he looked at the snake and said, “Sic em!”

The snake looked confused a moment, then shot forward to try to bite them. It was, of course, a boa constrictor, and therefore was not venomous, but Piers and Dudley didn't know that. They screamed, and Harry laughed with a vindictive glee. The part of his mind that told him this was very very bad was quiet, and he just grinned and slicked his hair back, not noticing that his normal permanent bed-head was gone, his hair lying flat for once.

His aunt and uncle ran forward, and he pointed at them. “Them too,” he told the snake. It chased after them, and he laughed even harder.

“Now be free! Be free, my pretties!” All the glass in the reptile house vanished, and a bunch more snakes fled at his command.

Chuckling darkly, he ran off. His rage had been replaced with a soaring happiness, which was something of an alien sensation to Harry. He ran, and ran; he didn't care where to, he just no longer gave a damn.

He was on a bus downtown when something inside him shifted, and Sardonic Harry was replaced with Just Harry. Gone was the happiness, even the rage. Now there was only fear and anxiety. What the bloody hell had he DONE? Was he out of his bloody MIND? Never mind the glass disappearing, or the snakes taking orders from him, he had run off. Run off, with nowhere to go except back to an aunt and uncle who would be angrier than they'd been in their entire lives.

Getting off the bus, he sat down on a bench and ran his fingers through his hair, which was no longer lying flat, and had gone back to permanent bed-head. But he was too terrified to notice something so trivial.

Okay, okay, let's not panic,
Motherly Harry thought.
Panic isn't going to help. We have to think. What will happen if we go back to the Dursley's?

“I'll get locked in my cupboard until the heat death of the universe, and won't get food.”

Yes, and if we just... don't?

“Still no food, unless I get some out of a garbage or I beg for money or something.”

“Now why would you need to do that?” asked a stranger standing feet from him. He jumped, and looked up. Then his mind boggled. Before him was a man who looked like a very tall and thin Father Christmas, and was dressed in the most ridiculous pin-striped Zoot Suit with a big floppy sun-hat that didn't match.

Harry felt Sardonic Harry return. “What's it to you?”

The stranger blinked at him, surprised. Harry stared back. “Listen, if you're going to kidnap me, well... whether I cooperate or not depends on how what you plan to do with me compares to what I already go through with my relatives. I won't be a sex slave or anyth--”

“Oh now, boy, such language!” The way he said it made Harry think. Sardonic Harry left again, and Just Harry returned.

“Sorry about that, sir,” he said in his best meek, passive voice. “I'm just a little keyed up.”

“Natural, after what happened.” The man looked around a bit before continuing, “Vanished some glass and set a snake on your relatives, correct?”

“How did you—I mean, er...”

Blue eyes twinkled gaily. “Don't worry, my dear lad.” He sat down next to Harry on the bench, close enough to whisper but not
too
close.

“Harry,” he began.

“How did you know---”

“Please let me explain.”

Harry nodded.

“My name is Albus Dumbledore. And, Harry, I shall just be blunt with it: you are a wizard.”

He stared at the man. “What?”

“I said, you are a wizard. You possess magic.”

His eyes narrowed in suspicion, Harry asked, “What of it?”

“Well, as it happens, so am I.”

“Right, sure you are.”

He looked around, then took out a long piece of worked wood, and waved it about a bit.

“Yeah, nothing happened,” Harry said.

“Nothing happened that you
saw
, Harry. That was not a demonstration, just preparation, as we are among Muggles – non-magic folk. Here, now, is the demonstration.”

Albus Dumbledore pointed his wand at a stone, and the stone turned into a turtle, which walked toward them slowly.

“Okay, you're a wizard too. Doesn't explain why you're here talking to me.”

“Well, Harry, I just so happen to be the headmaster of a school of magic, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. When the Ministry of Magic informed me of your rather impressive display of magic back at the zoo, and that they had not found the wizard responsible – though they knew who you were, I came looking for you.”

“Oh. Did I break some secrecy law, sir? Am I going to go to prison?”

“No no, nothing like that. Harry, you are young, and do not have a wand, and you were raised by Muggles. So it is forgiven. Doing magic in front of Muggles is not a crime until you have started going to school, and even then there is some leeway.”

“Oh. Good. So... er... what happens to me now? If I go back to the Dursleys, they'll lock me in my cupboard and not feed me for a month! And my relatives turn white and beat me if I so much as talk about anything that might be magic, they'll never let me go to this Hogwarts, sir.”

Dumbledore looked in some concern at the boy. But the boy was telling the truth, not exaggerating. He scratched his beard to give himself time to think.

“Be that as it may, Harry, they cannot prevent you from going. Even if they will not pay for it, there is a fund to pay for those who cannot afford it. But because your parents were well-off when they died, that fund will not be necessary.”

“Pardon?”

“Oh, Hagrid will explain it to you in more depth. I shall have him come round to collect you to go shopping later in the year, as the letters have not gone out yet.”

“Please, sir, I can't go back to the Dursleys! I'm not exaggerating, they beat me and starve me and work me like a slave all hours of the day! I can't---”

“Calm down, Harry, I believe you.”

“You do?”

“Yes. It makes me very... displeased... that I so misjudged your aunt and uncle. I put you with them because I thought you would be safe there. But I see now that was a mistake.” He looked at the boy sadly. The images coming from Harry's mind, and the terror in his eyes, decided Albus.

“No, you shall not have to go back. You shall become a ward of Hogwarts instead, and I shall protect you. You have already suffered much damage, much more than I had feared in my worst imaginings. No, I already let one boy like yourself down. I cannot let it happen again.”

“What did I need protecting from, as a baby? I mean, my parents died in a car crash. What's gonna hap--”

“Harry, your parents did not die in a car crash. They were murdered.”

It was difficult, but over the next few minutes, Dumbledore explained how Voldemort, the most evil dark wizard in a century had murdered his parents, and for reasons unknown had been unable to murder Harry. How the man had lost his powers, become a wraith, when he tried. That because of this, he was famous; famous for being the cause of Voldemort's downfall, and famous for surviving the Killing Curse, something nobody else had ever done before or since.

“Anyway, Harry. Given that the Dursleys cannot be trusted with you, and given that I do not yet have accommodations for you at Hogwarts, I shall take you to the Leaky Cauldron, and get you a room there. I will have Hagrid be your guard. Come, take my arm, we shall Apparate there.”

Harry still wasn't sure if he trusted this man, but took the man's arm anyway. Immediately, he felt like he was being squeezed through a rubber tube. When he reappeared, inside a dingy old tavern, Dumbledore quickly conjured a bucket for him to puke into, then vanished the mess with his wand.

After Dumbledore got him set up in a room, he paid for a meal for Harry, then left to go fetch Hagrid. Harry thanked the man before he left, and chowed down on beef stew, trying very hard to ignore the eyes staring at him.

That night, he went to sleep in an actual bed, feeling better than he had his whole life.

 

The next morning, Harry kept his eyes closed for several minutes, convinced it had all been a dream. But when he opened his eyes at last, he found he was in the bed he'd gone to sleep in. Once he was dressed and ready, he went down looking for breakfast.

“Um... I don't have any money, but, well, I can pay you later.”

“No, my dear boy,” the wizened old toothless owner said, grinning. “Hagrid already took care of it. And I'd gladly have given it to you on the house, but Hagrid insisted.”

“Oh. Which one is Hagrid?”

“He's asleep himself at the mo. But-- oh, there he is. Hello, Hagrid!”

Harry saw at once why Hagrid was his bodyguard; the man was too big to be allowed. But for all he looked intimidating, the man was a teddy bear in personality, complete with twinkling button-like eyes.

“Harry! I ain't seen you since you was a baby! C'mere,” he said, giving Harry a bone-crushing hug. “Yeh look jes like yer Da. But wif yer mum's eyes.”

Harry beamed, feeling ecstatic. As he did, Hagrid looked down at him and looked confused.

“Well, at leas I thought yeh had yer mum's eyes. Look more like James's eyes, now. And yer hair... coulda sworn it was black when I came in. Now it's like a dark auburn. Ah well, trick o' the light, I'm sure. Anyways, even though the lists ent gone out yet, Dumbledore gave me a copy of one anyways, we can get yer stuff.”

When they finished breakfast, Hagrid showed him how to get into Diagon Alley. Of course, Harry didn't have a wand yet to do it, but that would change soon. The brick wall opened up and he saw the most amazing place ever in his life. He became so excited that he began jumping up and down. Neither one of them noticed that Harry's hair and eyes were changing color and texture as he bounced, his bed-head hair becoming slick and normal, and turning redder; his eyes were also hazel now. But then he calmed down a bit and they went back to normal.

First they went to Gringott's, the wizarding bank, and got Harry's money, making another stop on the way at a vault that looked empty but for a small grubby package. When they got to Harry's parents' vault, Harry gaped. He had so much gold he probably could have bought his uncle's business, Grunnings, and still had plenty leftover. Sardonic Harry thought that idea was very amusing.

When they were done, Hagrid went back to the Leaky Cauldron for a drink, because the Gringotts carts made him ill. So Harry took his money around looking for the things on his list. The first thing he wanted was a wand, so he went to Ollivander's.

Ollivander's was an experience. The proprietor was a little creepy, and looked like he'd evaporate in a stiff wind. Then Harry spent the next half an hour or more trying every wand in the shop before one finally chose him. And on top of all that, he found out that his wand shared a core with the wizard that had murdered his parents.

Hagrid met up with him as he left Ollivander's, having bought Harry a beautiful snowy owl, and they went around getting the rest of his things, before returning to the Leaky Cauldron for the night.

 

Harry spent the whole summer reading his fascinating books, exploring Diagon Alley, and eating meals with Hagrid. And, occasionally, doing magic, since Dumbledore had said he wouldn't get in trouble for it until he started school. So it was that he had gotten pretty good at some of the spells they would be expected to learn his first year there, which he hoped would reflect well on his grades.

Some mornings, he woke up feeling weird, though; he didn't know why, and it always passed by the time he got to the bathroom, so he didn't say anything to anyone about it. But he bought a blank journal at Flourish and Blotts, one that could only be opened by the owner, and anything written in it would look like nonsense to anyone but the person writing in it. He bought it so he could describe the odd feeling before it passed.

He thought a moment, then began to write. The weird sensation was like his skin felt different, softer. His hands felt slimmer yet not skinny – more like slim in a healthy way, and more elegant. And one time, he'd fell groin-first on part of the bed and while it had hurt, it didn't hurt the way he'd expected. It hadn't hurt as much, or for as long, but still hurt. But when it happened again later, it hurt a lot more, threatening to make him cry. He made a mental note to avoid that part of the bed in future.

 

By the time September rolled around, Harry was starting to bore, and was glad school would be starting. He got all his stuff packed, and Hagrid took him to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, through the wall that was actually a doorway or something of the sort, where he spent some time wandering around talking to people, once he'd gotten his stuff in the train. One group he talked to was a group of red-heads, the Weasleys, whose mother was very nice.

At last, he got on the train and found a compartment, where he was shortly joined by the youngest Weasley boy – Ron, who claimed everywhere else was full. Harry didn't mind; maybe he could get a friend out of this. He'd never been allowed friends before, and now there was nobody to stop him.

“Oh wow, that's weird,” Ron said after sitting down. “I thought your hair was black, before. But it's kind of red, now.”

“Yeah, Hagrid's noticed that on occasion too. Says it's a trick of the light. As far as I know, it's always been black.”

Ron narrowed his eyes in concentration. “Oh, yeah. It's black now. Odd. Oh well.”

He and Ron had a lot of fun, once the trolley went by, trading Chocolate Frog cards and trying different candies and other treats.

At one point, a bushy-haired girl came by asking about some boy's lost pet toad. The motherly part of Harry felt stirred with worry for the unknown boy's pet, and so he excused himself to help the girl look.

There it was again, that odd feeling, as he and Hermione Granger looked for Neville's lost toad, but he barely noticed it, as he was too intent on finding the lost pet. They didn't find it, to his dismay, by the time they needed to go and change into their school robes.

When they got out, Hagrid directed the first years to a series of boats. Their stuff would go up without them while they did. Ron and Harry got a boat together, and Neville finally found his toad before they took off.

He soon saw why they approached the castle this way; it offered a very dramatic and beautiful view of the castle, that they got to enjoy for several minutes until they docked in an underground cavern, and headed up the stairs to the entrance hall.

“Ugh,” said a voice behind him once they were left alone. “More Weasleys.”

Harry turned around and saw a thin blond boy whose face, though better looking than Dudley's, nonetheless reminded Harry of his cousin. But when Harry looked at the boy, he looked confused.

“Oh, sorry. I thought you... well, your hair...”

“Great way to introduce yourself to new people, whoever you are.”

“Er, sorry. Malfoy, Draco Malfoy.”

Ron sniggered. Draco sneered back at him. He held his hand out to Harry.

“Harry Potter,” he said, shaking the proffered hand with a sneer of his own. He was amused to note the blond boy's face become embarrassed.

“S-so it's true then? You really are Harry Potter?”

“Yes. Don't expect that to mean much to me, though. I only found out I'm famous over the summer. Still don't know what I think about it.”

Draco then introduced him to Crabbe and Goyle. Harry looked down his nose at them both, but was otherwise polite. Ron seemed a little confused, but also amused, once he saw Harry's face.

A severe-looking woman, Professor McGonagall, came in then, and told them all about the sorting. Soon, they were being led into the Great Hall, to be Sorted before the whole school.

He looked at the sight before him. A grubby old hat on a bench, Sardonic Harry thought. What's that all about?

Oh now, it's obviously a magic hat. Maybe we have to pull a rabbit from it?

Harry snickered at that mental image. Ron looked at him curiously.

“Oh nothing,” he explained. “Just a funny thought.”

The hat sang a song about the characteristics of the different Houses; Griffindors were brave, Ravenclaws brilliant, Hufflepuffs were just and loyal, and Slytherins were cunning and sneaky. Sardonic Harry thought this was rubbish, just like the Zodiac he saw in the papers sometimes, but worse; they were going to live with a bunch of other people for 7 years based on this nonsense? It annoyed him. But at the same time, Motherly Harry was trying to decide between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff.

Malfoy, of course, went to Slytherin, which confirmed some things for Harry. He waited, the thoughts in his head arguing with one another over the merits of the different Houses. Sardonic Harry even wanted to go to Slytherin, just to increase the quality of people there.

His different aspects were still fiercely debating when McGonagall called his name, and the entire school went silent as the grave for a moment, before chatter about him began. The inner voices of his thoughts went quiet, too.

Swallowing a lump, he walked up and sat down on the stool. The large hat was put on his head. Then, he heard another voice in his head, not one of his.

Interesting, interesting. You have a very peculiar mind, Mr. Potter. Oh well, nothing wrong with that. Just makes Sorting you a little more difficult. Let's see, you have courage, I see. And you're highly intelligent and studious as well. Also very kind and compassionate, and loyal. Oh, and cunning. There's ambition, as well. A thirst, to prove yourself. Hmm... now, where to put you?

'Oh I don't know, Mr. Hat,' said Motherly Harry. 'But Slytherins sound like a bunch of icky bullying types.'

Yeah,

said Sardonic Harry,

but maybe they just need a bit of straightening out. I think I could whip them into shape.

This went back and forth for a couple minutes, before the Hat interrupted.

Enough. I've heard from two Harries. But what about the third?

Oh,

thought Just Harry.

I would rather not go to Slytherin. I've put up with enough people like that in my life.

You sure? You could be great, you know. It's all here, inside your head, and Slytherin could help you achieve greatness.

No,

Just Harry thought firmly.

Well if you're sure, better be

“GRIFFINDOR!” the hat shouted out that last for all to hear.

Damn,

Sardonic Harry thought as he went to join the Griffindor table.

Oh well. I might still be able to do something with them.

When the Sorting was over, the food appeared, and Harry began to eat. Having gotten used to larger and more frequent meals over the summer, he ate rather a lot more than he would have thought possible before the summer, chatting between bites.

After several minutes, he felt someone's eyes on him, and turned to look. There, a greasy-haired, sallow wizard with a hooked nose glared at him with intense loathing. Harry raised an eyebrow in confusion; how did this man hate him so, when he could not possibly know Harry yet.

Then something happened that had never happened before; his scar seared with pain, making him hiss audibly. But it passed just as quickly, and he was able to explain it away as a sudden muscle spasm.

He turned to one of the older Weasley boys, Percy. “Who's that man talking to the guy in the purple turban?”

“Oh, that's Professor Snape. He teaches potions. But everyone knows he's after Quirrell's job. Sorry, Quirrell is the one with the turban. That's new. Wonder when he got that?”

Harry thanked Percy, and went back to eating. Snape looked away, which was good, because he felt Sardonic Harry getting annoyed enough to glare back at the man.

That night, he fell asleep full to bursting, for the first time in his life.

 

.

 

There really needs to be some kind of tour of the school or something, before classes start,

Harry's sardonic side thought angrily as he and Ron struggled to find Transfiguration in time. They got in, thinking they were on time, only to find the teacher had been transformed into a cat. She changed herself back and glared at them.

“You're late, boys.”

“Yeah, well,” Harry said, annoyance filling him, “maybe if there was a Grand Tour, or a day to just explore before classes started, or something of the sort, we'd actually know where the heck we were going.”

She frowned at him.

“Professor,” he added as an afterthought. He suddenly felt worried he'd overstepped his bounds. Ron, too, was looking at him like he was mad.

“You have a point, Potter. But I'm taking that point from Griffindor for your cheek. Be glad it wasn't more. Now sit, we have class.”

Thankfully, the rest of the class went much better. Harry redeemed himself in McGonagall's eyes by being able to change a toothpick into a needle on his first attempt, which got him 10 points for Griffindor, and an annoyed look from Hermione.

'I had months of practice,' he mouthed at her from across the room. The look on her face at that told him she wanted to hear that story later. So he did, at dinner later that day.

 

The rest of the week went pretty well, but then at the end of it was Potions, with Snape. They all filed in, and only when they were all seated did Snape practically glide in, like a very solid looking ghost, his robes billowing despite there being no wind.

Wee, Snape's a fairy,

thought Sardonic Harry. Only years of practice kept him from snickering aloud at this thought. Still, Snape glared at him as though he'd heard the remark, but couldn't prove it.

Looking away from Harry, Snape went into this speech about how beautiful potions were, like he was in love with the subject. Harry ignored his sardonic side suggesting Snape marry his cauldron, and wrote down everything the man said.

Obviously looking for an excuse to pick on Harry, Snape 'mistook' his studiousness for indolence, and suggested that Harry was too good to pay attention.

A thought crossed his mind, a tactic he'd done with his relatives on occasion, so he tried it.

“I was taking notes, sir. Your words begged to be written down.”

The look on Snape's face made Sardonic Harry think,

Yeah, he's looking for reasons to pick on us alright.

“Think you're so smart, do you, Potter? Then tell me, what would I get if I mixed powdered root of asphodel with an infusion of wormwood?”

Oh, I remember this one!

Motherly Harry thought. “A powerful sleeping potion called the Draught of Living Death, Professor.”

Snape's frown deepened. “Lucky guess. Where would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?”

Ignoring Hermione's outstretched hand waving in the air, he said, “I... hmm... oh wait, I remember now. The stomach of a goat. A bezoar is a stone found in a goat's stomach, that will save you from most poisons.”

“Did you swallow the Potions book, Potter?”

“No, sir. I just got my books at the beginning of summer, and had a lot of time to read, and not much else, Professor.”

Snape pounded the desk, his teeth grinding. “What is the difference between Monkshood and Wolfsbane?”

“Trick question, sir. They're the same plant; also known as aconite. Professor.”

“FIVE POINTS, Potter. Five points from Griffindor!”

Harry frowned, feeling angry. But it wasn't Sardonic Harry anger. “May I ask why, Professor?”

“Because... because I said so, that's why.”

“You need a reason to take points, sir. 'Because I said so' is not a valid reason.”

“FINE! Then it's for your cheek, Potter. Any more and it will be detention.”

“You can't just goad someone in order to have a retroactive excuse to take points, Professor. It's not fair.”

“Life isn't fair, Potter! Life---” the man's face suddenly fell, and he turned pale as a ghost, backing up. Harry started to notice chatter, and looked around at Ron, to ask what was happening. But Ron's eyes were wide with shock; as were everyone else's. Ron gaped at him, pointing at his hair. Which, Harry finally noticed, was very long indeed. And bright red.

Taking a mirror out of his bag, he looked at his reflection. He... he had become a girl. His hair was bright red, his skin was paler, and his eyes were swiftly fading from bright green to hazel. Also, his glasses were missing, but he could see perfectly.

“Oh,” he said. Only, it wasn't his voice. It was a girl's voice. “Well this is odd.”

At those words, Snape fled the room without a word.

“You never told me you were a metamorphmagus!” Ron accused.

“A what?”

“You can change your appearance at will.”

“No I can't. I didn't want to look like this. Why would I?”

He suddenly turned his head like he was in pain. When her head came back up, she looked around.

“Where's the teacher at? Oh wait, nevermind, I remember. Well what do we do now?”

Before anyone could answer, Dumbledore came into the room, and looked right at her.

“I see what you mean, Severus. Just like her, except for the eyes. James's eyes. A bit like a reverse Harry.”

The girl that had been Harry waved and beamed at Dumbledore. “Hello, Professor Dumbledore. How're you?”

“I am well. What about you, Harry?”

“Harry? Oh no, I'm not Harry. He's listening, of course, but I'm Iliana.”

“Iliana?”

“Yes. Iliana Evanna Potter.”

“Well, Ms. Potter, would you please come with me to the Hospital Wing? We are naturally very curious to know what's going on.”

“Okie dokie, Professor,” Iliana said, grabbing her things with a smile. “See ya later, Ron, Hermione.”

She stood up, and everyone noticed that her clothing had changed as well; she was wearing a girl's uniform.

 

Madame Pomfrey fussed over Iliana, doing tests, but ultimately looked at Dumbledore and shrugged. “Well, she's not a metamorphmagus, Albus; at least not of any kind I've ever heard of. She truly does not have any conscious control of the transformation. Which is, er... a complete transformation, if you get my drift. As to whether she'll change back, I have no idea.”

“Oh I think I'll be able to change back, Madame Pomfrey. Unless Alastair shows up instead, which is possible.”

“Alastair?” Dumbledore asked curiously.

“Yes. Al was the one who set all those snakes loose at the zoo, Professor. He didn't do it on purpose, of course. He got a bit caught up in his emotions, and got carried away.”

“May I meet Alastair now?”

“That depends. I don't know how much control we have of the switch.”

“Ah. So tell me, Iliana, do you know if Harry has been having any blackouts?”

“Not so far. This is the farthest one of our switches has gone, though; no telling what, if anything, has changed. But until now, we've all been co-aware, sharing a collective memory. But each of us adds a different flavor to the memories.”

“I see.”

The matron turned to Dumbledore. “Multiple personalities?”

“It would seem so, Poppy. Iliana?”

Iliana sighed. “Yes, Professor Dumbledore?”

“How did you come by your name?”

She looked thoughtful at that. “Hmm... well, I heard the names Iliana and Evanna at different points, and liked them. But I didn't string them together until, well... until I transformed.”

“I see. And Alastair's name?”

“Oh, I gave it to him.” She cocked her head for a moment, then smiled. “But he likes it. Alastair Potter. I read it in a book at the library. Alastair Crowley is who I got the name from.”

“Ah yes, Alastair Crowley. I never met the man myself, of course. But he was rather infamous in the wizarding world at the time for wanting to abolish the statute of secrecy.”

“Cool. Oh, by the way, I was wondering something.”

“Yes?”

“Assuming I don't change back right away, will I have to go to the girl's dormitory?”

“Er, no. I don't think we should do that. If you went to bed Iliana and woke up Harry, that would be disruptive.”

“Ah, okay.”

“Still, I don't know if you should be in the boy's dormitory either.”

“Well, I could always change in the bathroom, Professor.”

“But would you feel comfortable there?”

She shrugged. “I know boys can be a bit gross, but if anyone tries anything, I can hex them.”

Dumbledore chuckled. “Well okay, if you insist, Ms. Potter.”

“Oh, one other thing, Professor.”

“Yes?”

“Why did Professor Snape react so strongly to my appearance?”

“Well, Ms. Potter, you bear a striking resemblance to Lily Evans Potter, your mother, when she was your age. And he was, er... rather fond of her.”

“Oh. Yeah, that would explain it.”

He turned to the matron. “Poppy, will you be wanting to call in experts from St. Mungo's?”

“Yes, I think so. I'm curious to know what the, uh... the Potters are.”

“Well, Ms. Potter, that seems all for now. Class is over with now, you should go to dinner.”

“Thanks, Professor!”

 

Stepping into the Great Hall, the talking stopped suddenly, then kicked back up again as Iliana sat down next to Ron and began eating, explaining things to him, the twins, Hermione, and Percy between bites.

“Well okay,” Ron said. “But it's gonna take some getting used to, my friend being two different people.”

“Three. So far.”

“Three?”

“Well we haven't fully transformed into Alastair yet, but we did a partial transformation at the beginning of summer. So eventually, he'll pop up.”

The only other thing Ron had a problem with was he used the wrong pronouns once. After a talking-to from Iliana, during which she shouted for all the school to hear that she was 100% girl in this form, he learned his mistake and did not make it again.

Naturally, Dumbledore had to make a statement to the school about it. Iliana, embarrassed, hid her face while he explained that Harry was a Multiple, and what that meant. Even including a bit where he said the three personalities they knew of might not be the only ones.

She looked up at the teacher's table. Snape was not up there. I guess he's still upset.

Naturally, Harry said in her mind.

Ah, there you are. I was beginning to wonder. You ready to come back?

I would, but I don't know how, yet.

Okay. Well don't worry about it too much.

She finished up, grabbed her things, and paused before leaving. “Harry says Hi, Ron.”

“Oh. Er. Say hi back, then.”

“Will do. Seeya.” She took off for Griffindor Tower.

Going to bed was... interesting. She didn't have any suitable sleepwear, just Harry's boy sleepwear. She shrugged; it would have to do. She changed in the bathroom, into the scratchy pajamas which Harry had bought over the summer for himself. She was going to have to find a way to order her own pajamas. Of course, the other problem was her uniform; if she transformed back to Harry in her sleep, his uniform might still be a girl's uniform. Lucky he had spares.

She went to bed before any of the boys could come up, closing the curtains and spelling them solid first.

 

Iliana did not change back to Harry, or change into Alaistair, for the next few weeks. It was interesting going to classes she'd gone to as Harry before; she had different skills than he did. She didn't know how he was at potions yet, but she was poor in transfiguration, almost as poor as Ron. She supposed Harry's practice over the summer hadn't carried over to her.

Experts from St. Mungo's came in during the week and did tests on her for several days before finally declaring that whatever she was, she was something completely without precedent, as far as they knew. They were going to do more research, but Iliana thought they were probably wasting their time. But it was theirs to waste, so she said nothing.

About the only thing constructive they'd told her was why she was still in this form. She had apparently used up whatever kind of magic was fueling the transformations, and it had to replenish itself before she could transform again. Though one did offer the hypothesis that powerful emotions might be able to fuel a new transformation ahead of schedule. They also seemed to be agreed that it was possible that the changes were like a muscle, that with enough work it would get easier and the magic powering it would replenish itself faster.

So it was that when the Griffindors and Slytherins had flying lessons together, Iliana was still Iliana.

The morning before, there was almost an altercation when Draco grabbed Neville's Remembrall, a device to help people remember things. Just as Iliana and Ron had jumped up to defend the timid boy, McGonagall showed up and prevented any trouble.

Later, Iliana, Ron, and Hermione walked with the other Griffindors to flying lessons. Their teacher was Madame Hooch, who looked rather like a human hawk. She gave them instructions, and then set them to trying to follow.

“Up!” Iliana said, and the broom shot into her hand. Neville's didn't even move, and Hermione's only rolled around. Ron's hit him in the face, but caused no damage, and thus was very funny.

When everyone got on their brooms, she gave them instructions to lean forward gently then touch back down. She counted down, but before she got all the way through it, Neville – who was very nervous – accidentally pushed off prematurely and too hard, thus he went rocketing up into the sky, and flew around at random a bit as she yelled at him, before falling down on his wrist with a crack.

“Not a single broom in the air while I take Mr. Longbottom to the Hospital Wing. If I see anyone breaking that command, I will have them expelled.”

When she left, Draco – smirking as he did – went over to pick up Neville's dropped Remembrall.

“Give it here, Draco.”

“No, I don't think so.”

“Please?”

“No,” he said, getting on his broom and taking off. “I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find.”

Without thinking, she jumped on her own broom. Ignoring Hermione's moralizing, she flew up after him. Her every worry and care vanished, and she felt such joy at the sensation. She'd found something effortless, something she knew how to do without learning.

Draco seemed shocked at her ability.

“Now give it back, Draco.”

“No.”

“Crabbe and Goyle aren't here to help you,” she said. “And I can hex you. Be a shame if you fell out of the sky because I put you in a full body bind.”

Draco turned even paler at that, but then sneered. “Have it then, if you can catch it.” With that, he threw it as hard as he could in the other direction.

Again not thinking, she rocketed after it, and caught it after a 50 foot dive. Ecstatic, she flew back to the cheering Griffindors, and landed.

“MISS POTTER!” the stern voice of Professor McGonagall shouted, sounding shocked.

A sinking feeling in her gut, Iliana turned round to face the teacher. “Sorry, Professor, but Draco took---”

“I don't want to hear it, Ms. Potter. You could have DIED. Come with me. Leave the broom here.”

She dropped the broom, but held onto the Remembrall.

“Good, yes, you should keep that for now, Ms. Potter; it's evidence.”

Iliana worried the whole time they walked, silently, to wherever the professor was taking her. That was a bit of a turnaround, as she was usually the one telling Harry to calm down. She wished she had her own voice to tell her that.

They finally got to Quirrell's room, where McGonagall asked for Wood.

Wood? Is she going to beat us?

But Wood turned out to be an older – and very handsome – boy. A boy that looked confused.

“Ms. Potter, this is Oliver Wood. He's the captain of the Quidditch team. Wood, I've found you a seeker!”

His eyes lit up, as he looked at Iliana as though sizing her up. “Really? You sure?”

“She caught that thing after a 50 foot dive, without a scratch on her. Charlie Weasley couldn't have done it.”

“She has the perfect build for a seeker, too. We'll have to train her up. You ever play Quidditch before?”

“N-no, I haven't. Ron's told me and Harry about it, though.”

“Oh, you know Harry Potter? Wait, Ms. Potter... are you his sister?”

“No, Oliver. Don't you remember, Potter is a Multiple.”

“Oh yes, I remember you telling me now. Iliana, was it? Come to the Quidditch Pitch this Saturday and we'll start your training.”

McGonagall turned to her and added, “I'd better not hear about you slacking off on your training, Ms. Potter, or I might change my mind about punishing you. Which I would hate to do, since it would be expelling three students at once, two of whom did nothing wrong.”

 

The next day, a Saturday, Iliana went to the Quidditch pitch as instructed, and met Oliver Wood there. She blushed as she saw him, for she was very taken with the boy. Harry and Alastair came more to the front to help her shake that off and concentrate, but their transformation magic hadn't replenished itself, so nothing else happened.

Wood ran her through the basics of the game, then had her practice catching golf balls instead of risking the snitch, which she was very good at. They did that until it began getting dark.

“Well, that was excellent. Keep up the good work, and that cup will have our name on it,” he said, putting a hand on her shoulder. She felt her face turn hot at the touch, and her vision went blurry for a moment.

“You okay, Iliana? I thought I saw something in your eyes.”

“Oh, I'm fine.” But she refused to talk all the rest of the way up the castle and into the common room. She went over to Ron and Hermione and told them all about practice.

Sunday went much the same, Wood wanting more practice, this time with a practice snitch. But they didn't practice as long, so she'd have time to do schoolwork. Which she had a hard time concentrating on, as thoughts of Wood kept invading her mind. Those thoughts didn't go away as she lay in bed, either, which made getting to sleep difficult.

The next day was again much like normal, until Iliana passed Wood in the hall. With Ron and Hermione there to witness it, her hair retracted into her head and turned black and wild; her height dropped an inch, and her eyes turned green. And then Harry's glasses returned. He also felt a pain in his crotch as the panties Iliana had been wearing took a little too long to transform into briefs, and squeezed him painfully enough that he cried out.

“Harry! You're back!” Ron cried out, hugging his friend.

“Yes. And before you ask, I remember everything that happened. We seem to have a collective memory.”

“Welcome back, Harry,” Hermione said. “You were gone for so very long!”

He shrugged. “Yeah, I know.”

“Oh crap,” Ron exclaimed.

“What?”

“Well, I suppose it's only Monday. But you might want to change back to Iliana before Saturday's practice, or Oliver will do his nut.”

“I guess we'll just have to see what happens. I can't control it, after all. Besides, I don't think I'll have any problem on Saturday, even if I stay me.”

 

.

 

Harry had a problem. It was Saturday, and it was Quidditch practice. Which, as it turned out, he was horrible at. He only caught the golf balls one out of ten times, and ended up spraining his ankle on a bad dismount, and had to go to the Hospital Wing to get it healed.

“Well,” he later told Ron and Hermione, “Wood isn't happy. And neither am I. I suck at Quidditch.” He then proceeded to give them a blow-by-blow description of how awful he was at it. They were a very good audience.

“Cheer up, mate. You'll change back at some point. Iliana's good enough she could probably miss every practice between now and the match, and still win. But I wouldn't recommend it, Wood might well lose his mind from the stress.”

Ron got up to go to the bathroom at that point, and Hermione scooted closer.

“So,” she said, sounding sly. “I noticed Wood passed by us, and y-Iliana turned beet red, and then there you were, Harry. I think she fancies Wood.”

“I do not!” Harry said, his voice shifting into Iliana briefly, eyes flashing hazel before returning to green.

“Er, I mean... god, this is confusing. It's Iliana's feelings, but I feel them when she does, we're connected in some way that isn't quite telepathy, but close; we can read each other's moods, and send messages to one another, but we also have some privacy from one another, which I suppose is where the bulk of the difference between us lies – that ability to be distinct. Yet there's also some thoughts shared unintentionally, sometimes. It's all so weird, and trying to sort out who's saying what and who's feeling what is confusing. Her feelings feel like mine, but different. Gah...” He ran his hands through his hair, exasperated.

Hermione patted his arm. “Don't worry, you'll find a way to manage. And I can help. Or try to, anyway.”

“Thanks, Hermione. We appreciate it.”