Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, Fleur, and Mundungus drank. All of them gasped and grimaced as the potion hit their throats; At once, their features began to bubble and distort like hot wax. Hermione and Mundungus were shooting upward; Ron, Fred, and George were shrinking; their hair was darkening, Hermione’s and Fleur’s appearing to shoot backward into their skulls.

Moody, quite unconcerned, was now loosening the ties of the large sacks he had brought with him. When he straightened up again, there were six Harry Potters gasping and panting in front of him. (Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, J.K. Rowling)


Harry stared at his doppelgangers in stunned amazement. It was beyond bizarre to see his own face looking back at him from anything other than a mirror. He rubbed his eyes and shook his head, trying to remind himself that these were actually his friends, and they were only doing this to help him. When he looked up again, however, the other Order members were gone, and he was alone with six slightly different looking doubles of himself, one of whom appeared extremely angry.

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?" the doppelganger shouted. "WHY ARE THERE SEVEN OF ME?"

Harry's eyes went wide; why was this double so mad that he was red in the face and shouting?

"BECAUSE I'M PISSED OFF WITH MY LOT IN LIFE, YOU STUPID PRAT!" yelled AngryHarry, hands clenched to his sides. "I'M AN OUTRAGED TEENAGER WHO HAS LOST MY GODFATHER AND MENTOR AND THIS IS HOW I EXPRESS MYSELF!"

Harry remembered being that angry once, but he had been under a lot of stress that year. He had also been feeling the unfortunate influence of the mysterious link he shared with Voldemort. The year since had not improved much, but Voldemort had blocked the connection with Harry's mind, and he only felt the occasional surge of anger that warranted an outburst.

One of the other doppelgangers was heading rather unsteadily toward the Dursley's liquor cabinet, where he deftly picked the lock and took out a bottle of brandy. Apparently he was drunk and needed more.

"'Course I'm drunk," slurred DrunkHarry as if he, too, had read Harry's thoughts. "You'd start drinking, too, if you had the life I do. Parents murdered by an evil wizard, plucky godfather killed by a black curtain, fateful prophecy demanding your death, and barmy Headmaster leaving you an impossible quest. 'Course I'm drunk," he repeated, knocking back a shot.

Harry had a hard time believing that he would turn to drink, no matter how hard things got. It seemed a poor excuse for dealing with everything he had gone through. He watched in bewildered fascination as another one of his doppelgangers threw himself into a kitchen chair, chin propped dully on his hands as he shook his head and sighed. Was he in love?

"No, just defeated and depressed," answered AngstyHarry. "You would be too if everyone close to you was dying, and it was your destiny to sacrifice yourself to a painful death fighting the most evil wizard in history."

That was true, but Harry had moved on from bleak despair to a grim determination to take down Voldemort no matter the cost. This overly emotional doppelganger struck him as a bit weak.

"Chin up, Harry!" called another doppelganger. His eyes were blazing fiercely; he stood tall, strong and full of life. "You are the Chosen One. You and only you can do this. You have the power of love within you; you must simply learn how to use it."

"Whatever," muttered AngstyHarry. "You might have previously unknown super powers all of a sudden, but I sure as hell don't. I don't even have a girlfriend now. I gave her up to save the world."

Super powers? Ignoring the angst, Harry turned toward SuperHarry, wondering if perhaps he might wring a few tips out of this more powerful doppelganger before he left on his Horcrux search. SuperHarry seemed a bit unapproachable, however. His eyes were just a bit too green and bright, his face uncharacteristically handsome and strong.

"WOULD YOU GET OVER YOURSELF ALREADY?" shouted AngryHarry, tossing one of his aunt's dish towels to the floor in a huff as he glared at AngstyHarry. "THERE ARE FAR WORSE THINGS GOING ON HERE THAN NOT HAVING A GIRLFRIEND!"

"I know—it's the end of the wizarding world as we know it and I'm alone!" wailed AngstyHarry, letting his head fall to the kitchen table.

"There's always another witch around the corner, mate," whispered a rather suave and sophisticated-looking doppelganger who was wearing too much aftershave. He was running his hand through his hair and polishing his glasses on his shirt as if he were trying to impress someone. He noticed Harry looking at him and winked; Harry shuddered at the doppelganger's overt sensuality. That was something best private.

"We need to stop feeling sorry for ourselves." SuperHarry, his voice suddenly deeper, stepped up and took charge. "We will stop Voldemort. We will hunt down each and every Horcrux and rid the wizarding world of his evil hate and prejudice. Who's with me?"

"Cheers!" chortled DrunkHarry, raising another glass to the room. Behind him, standing in a shadowy corner, yet another doppelganger snorted scornfully and rolled his eyes. His face was pale, his messy black hair short and spiky, and a second scar ran down his cheek. Harry rubbed his own face a bit absently, wondering where the scar had come from.

"It's no use," moaned AngstyHarry, throwing up his hands. "We don't have a pixie's chance in a snowstorm. Seven horcruxes? Who are we to think we can hope to destroy them when the likes of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore couldn't even track them all down and destroy one without almost obliterating his hand?"

The doppelganger with the scar sneered and turned away with another roll of his eyes.

"What are you laughing at?" demanded SuperHarry, hands on his hips. "Care to share your story, tosspot?"

"Certainly," replied DarkHarry, drawing his words out slowly. He had a slightly different accent as well. "Isn't it obvious? The only way you can hope to defeat Dark magic is by using Dark magic yourself."

DrunkHarry hiccupped, eyes wide.

"And I suppose you're the one to show us?" asked SuperHarry, looking disgusted. "Been sneaking down Knockturn Alley again, have you? Sleeping with your old Potions book?"

DarkHarry merely inclined his head. He tapped his temple with his index finger. "I share the Dark Lord's powers, you know. I can see into his mind."

DirtyHarry snorted. "You're about as dark as I am gay."

"HIS NAME IS VOLDEMORT!" shouted AngryHarry, grabbing DarkHarry by the throat. "ONLY DEATH EATERS CALL HIM THAT, AND WE'RE NOT A DEATH EATER!"

Harry was too confused by the personal pronoun to respond. Seeing as he hadn't gotten a word in anyway, he didn't feel it was necessary. Obviously something had gone wrong with Moody's Polyjuice Potion, and he was trapped with six different versions of himself, all equally out of character.

"Look," said SuperHarry, trying to keep order. "We need a plan. We can't just run off on an extended camping trip and hope the next Horcrux is delivered to our doorstep by a house elf. What's the plan?"

"We need Hermione," sighed AngstyHarry. "She's the only one who can get us through this. She's the only one who has read Hogwarts, a History."

"Mmm, Hermione," nodded DirtyHarry appreciatively.

"Stay in canon, stay in canon," hummed DrunkHarry. He tripped into the living room and passed out on the floor.

"We need to figure out who RAB is first," said SuperHarry, maintaining a tenuous hold on the situation.

"Really Awesome Babe," murmured DirtyHarry, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"Really Bad Adversary?" suggested AngstyHarry.

"That's RBA," said SuperHarry.

"Shit, I can't even spell!" AngstyHarry stomped off into the living room, his chest heaving.

"Idiot," murmured DarkHarry. "We do not need him, anyway. We simply need blood, unicorn hair, and a clipping of the Dark Lord's fingernail."

"No Dark magic!" snapped SuperHarry in his most righteous voice. "We will not stoop to His level."

"Then you have no hope, and I leave you to your own." DarkHarry sketched a sarcastic bow and retired to the living room.

"YOU JUST LOST US OUR BEST CHANCE AT FINDING A HORCRUX!" shouted AngryHarry, knocking over the Dursley's spice rack.

"I'd rather die a hundred noble deaths than sacrifice my soul to Dark magic," declared SuperHarry self-righteously.

"THEN YOU CAN DIE ALONE! I DON'T WANT ANY PART OF THIS!" AngryHarry stormed into the living room, kicking a few chairs as he went.

DirtyHarry looked at the remaining two. "Nice drama. Call me if Hermione shows up." He ruffled his hair a bit, and then sauntered into the living room with the others.

SuperHarry looked at Harry. "It's just us, then," he said, his face a grim mask of strength and resolve.

"Thanks," said Harry, "but I think I've got it."

"Are you sure?"

"Er, yes, I'm sure." He was sure he wasn't any of those things: hero, lover, Death Eater, depressed, drunk, or pissed off. He was Harry, just Harry. "You go on. I'll be okay."

"Good luck, Harry," said SuperHarry, pumping his hand before embracing him fiercely with tears in his eyes.

"Um, thanks. You too," replied Harry, turning away with a grin as SuperHarry left the kitchen. Harry shook his head as he helped himself to a glass of water from the refrigerator. When he turned back to the kitchen, he was surprised to see six completely different doppelgangers standing there, each with a member of the Order. They were in various states of undress as they began to pull on the clothes that Moody had brought for them.

"You okay, Harry?" Arthur Weasley asked quietly. He came up to Harry and placed a hand on his shoulder.

Harry nodded slowly. "Yes, just thinking, I guess."

"I know you're worried, Harry, but this is the best plan we've got," said Mr. Weasley. He pushed his glasses up and looked Harry in the eyes. "We'll get you out safely and back to the Burrow in no time, I promise."

"Oh, I know, Mr. Weasley," said Harry. "I wasn't thinking about that."

"Something else on your mind you need to talk about, Harry?" Mr. Weasley asked, a look of concern on his face. "You know you're like a seventh son to us, and we would do anything to help you."

"No, everything's okay," said Harry, smiling again as he watched his doubles each don a pair of rounded glasses. "Just thinking about some baggage that needed to be left behind."

Mr. Weasley nodded as if he understood, though he clearly did not. He moved back toward the rest of the Order. As Harry listened to Mad-Eye Moody detail the plan of his escape, he found his thoughts wandering again, and he glanced back at the living room. He could have sworn he saw six doppelgangers fade into nothing, alternately cursing, wailing, shouting, crying, or laughing.

He felt lighter and more true to himself. He could leave his past behind, knowing his future was in safe hands: his own. He knew who he was, even if no one else did. No matter what happened here on out, he would always remain Harry.

***