AN: This is pretty much finished, give or take. I'll be posting pretty regularly or that's the plan.
Thanks to the wonderful Sarah for putting up with me for the three years it actually took me to start finishing this thing.

Warnings for quasi-psychology, shameless manipulation of both accepted science and Harry Potter Canon and a heavy dose of inspiration from Robert Louis Stephenson's "Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde".

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In muggles, Disassociate Identity Disorder (DID) or Multiple Personality Disorder (MPD) is a cognitive disorder characterised by at least two distinct and relatively enduring identities or dissociated personality states that alternately control a person's behaviour, and is accompanied by memory impairment for important information not explained by ordinary forgetfulness.

- from "Identity Disorders: a curious wizard's guide".

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NHS Central London Residential Treatment Centre for Children and Young Adults was a pleasant yellow brick complex in Whitechapel, London. It had the facilities to support up to thirty residents and twenty staff in comfortable single rooms, with twenty of the resident rooms having ensuite bathrooms and the further ten residents rooms sharing five bathroms between them. The complex sprawled (as much as it is possible for any building to sprawl in Central London) around a large central green area, the sixties architecture not looking too out of place next to modern high rise office buildings and eighteenth century tourist traps.

"Who did you say you were here to discuss again?"

A tired looking man was sitting as straight in his chair as his fatigued spine would allow him. Thin-framed glasses did nothing to hide the purple circles around his eyes and lines of bone-deep exhaustion carved almost delicately into every surface of his face. His visage would not have looked out of place on a healthy 50-year-old, but this man was too young for his face. The new photograph on the desk – an exhausted woman with brown hair clutching a bundle of white blankets with a pink fist sticking out of one of the folds – could lead an elastic mind to understand his state.

Sitting on the other side of the desk was a man dressed in a violent violet velvet suit, with a well-groomed white beard reaching his belt and long white hair reaching further, even when pulled back into a long tail held in place by a - was that a stick?

"Harry Potter. His family had – have – a tradition of sending their pupils to the school which I am fortunate enough to be headmaster of. His name has been down on this year's roll ever since he reached his third month."

The exhausted man heaved a toe-deep sigh, turned to his computer screen and pulled up a new database entry

"Could you please confirm Harry's date of birth, your full name and your relation to him for our records."

"31st July 1980, Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, family fr –"

"– Wulfric with an 'f' or a 'ph' spelling?"

"Wulfric with an 'f' Brian Dumbledore, family friend and – hopefully – future headmaster."

"Right, Professor Dumbendore, you are here to discuss the future of one of our residents, one Harry James Potter, formerly of Number 4 Privet Drive, Surrey, correct?"

"Yes. Can you please tell me about him? His parents were very good friends of mine and I – well, I confess to having misplaced him after the incident at his last centre."

"He became a resident of St Jude's Centre after a school fire in 1987 and was a resident up until the centre was destroyed 4th April 1989, a catastrophe of which Harry was the only survivor, though not with his memory intact. You understand that the school fire and St Jude's disaster are both public record and no private information has been shared save the identity of the survivor o-o-o," the monotone recitation was interrupted by a large yawn before resuming. "The identity of the survivor of the incident, a fact that you were already aware of prior to your entrance into this centre. You also understand that I cannot go into any more detail about one of our residents due to the fact that you are not a relative, nor do you currently have any legal responsibility for him."

"Of course, of course, I would expect no less. However, I think you'll find that I have right to information about him as described here." The man in the purple suit picked up a piece of paper and passed it to the man sitting behind the desk. Tiredness seemed to cloud the supervisor's eyes for just a moment, before he began to read the blank paper that had been handed to him.

"That seems to be in order. How much detail do you need to know for your records?"

"Just his condition in layman's terms, if you please; I'm no expert in Psychology, unlike your good self. If you would send a copy of his details to the address on the card I gave you, I will ensure the school nurse receives all the information she needs."

"Well, he's got severe retrograde amnesia that we believe to be trauma induced, possible PTSD and a certain attraction to fire, though he's never started one. But, to be honest, nothing much. All in all, I would recommend keeping him away from bonfires and sources of green light, but he's in no way maladjusted to living in general society."

"I must ask: has anything strange happened around him? Anything that just doesn't make sense?"

"There is... talk amongst the children sometimes. But you probably don't want to hear about that."

"On the contrary, I find the talk of children to be often most enlightening."

"Well," Dumbledore was beckoned forward to lean conspiratorially over the desk, beard dipping in the mug of coffee sat by the keyboard, "They say that things fly around him, or that he makes things appear from nowhere when he wants them. They even say that his eyes change colour. But, to put it politely, we have some very ill children here, Mr Dumbendore, who say all sorts of things. I wouldn't take it too seriously. What I would like to know, however, is –"

The door opened, almost slamming into the wall as a frazzled looking nurse with scorched sleeves ran in, not seeming to see Professor Dumbledore at all.

"– I'm really sorry to interrupt, but she seems to have got hold of some matches again."

"Caoimhe's got matches? How does she keep getting them?"

"No offence meant, Chief, but the drapes had already gone up when I left and I'm worried about what she's got up to since – you know Alex isn't up to keeping them in line – and, well…"

"Please excuse me, Mr. Dumbendore, but I must see to this. If you wish to visit with Harry, anyone in blue coveralls will be able to escort you, and we will post our reply to your offer of schooling before the stated deadline." As he spoke, he was shutting down his computer and herding Professor Dumbledore from his office, locking the door behind the three of them before heading down the corridor at nearly a full sprint with the nurse, throwing a, "Good day to you!" over his shoulder as they went.