Splitting Hairs

Harry on the bed stared.

"You're..." He trailed off. His mouth felt very dry.

"You."

Harry in the corner had the grace to look a little sheepish.

"Yeah."

Harry on the bed turned to look at Hermione. Then he suddenly realised that he was looking at her profile. He looked behind him, felt around for confirmation. He was standing in the corner.

He thought of lying on the bed. And suddenly he was.

"Fucking hell," said Harry in the corner, just as Harry on the bed said "Oh, gods".

Both Harrys groaned, running their hands through their hair at the same time.

Hermione looked stunned, and almost...excited. Her eyes were wide, and darted from one Harry to the other, as if unable to take it in.

"It was you who suggested this," Harry in the corner snapped, "so what are you looking so bloody startled about?"

Harry in the bed gave Harry in the corner a severe look. "Look, leave her out of it. She's been a great help. You're the one who's causing all the problems, you know."

Harry in the corner walked over to Harry in the bed, lips lifting into a soft smile. He clicked his tongue softly.

"Ah, no. You still don't understand, do you? You see, I am you. So effectively, you've been causing your own headaches." And with a wink, he fell forward onto Harry on the bed. Harry on the bed heard a rushing sound, and the strangest sensation of merging with - himself. And then there was only one Harry left in the room.

He blinked. And then, for no reason at all, he started to laugh.

*    *    *

"What?"

"Run that by me again?"

Hermione sighed, for the hundredth time in the past hour or so. Now that they were back once again in the Gryffindor common room, where they had finally found some peace from the endless stream of visitors Harry had been getting, Hermione was trying to explain the situation. Ron had been sullen, then he'd blustered for a bit - but in the end friendship won over disgust, and he got over his horror. He still looked at Harry like he was going to explode or go mad for going anywhere near Malfoy, though. Now he was just watching Hermione, feeling a bit lost and a bit queasy. He'd thought it was just a simple - simple compared to what Hermione was saying, anyway - case of Harry really...liking Malfoy, but this was far more serious.

"Oh, for goodness' sakes. It's really quite simple. Just pay attention. The theory of Simul-Apparation isn't magical, it's sort of...innate."

"Not magical?" Ron was having a bit of trouble coming to terms with things. "Not magical?! Are you seriously telling me Muggles can split themselves in two and walk around like -"

"No, you idiot! Just listen, will you?" she said angrily. She was very, very tired. "OK. According to Freud - yes, a Muggle," she snapped, exasperated, at Ron's skeptical raise of eyebrows, "there are three levels to our personalities," she said, hesitantly, sounding either not certain of what she was saying, or not certain if they would understand. Harry thought it was more likely the latter. "The Id, the Ego, and the Superego."

She paused for effect.

"The Ego is sort of - the face you put on for everybody. What you think is acceptable for everyone. The Id, on the other hand, is your inner desires. Or, actually, your instincts. What you really want. The hedonist within you, I suppose. Seeking pleasure, regardless of consequence."

She broke this up into short sentences for better digestion. Another pause. Then she continued.

"The Superego, generally, sort of develops along with your Id and your Ego. It's sort of like - your conscience."

Ron blinked. Twice.

"Oh, for - alright. You're a child. You see an apple in a store. The Id wants to steal it - so you steal it. Then you're scolded. The next time you see an apple in the store, the Id still says 'go for it', but the Ego stills the instinct because your mother is there. Over time, your Superego learns that apple theft is a bad thing, and you no longer need the Ego to differentiate between right and wrong."

"Ah."

"So you see, Harry, you've somehow learnt how to Simul-Apparate, something not many wizards and witches can do. It's very, very advanced magic, and most records place it under the Dark Arts. Basically it's a sort of concentration charm you put on yourself where you separate yourself into two, but usually what happens is a little of each aspect of yourself gets put into each form of you, giving you two - diluted - versions of yourself. I've read up on it in the library, it's not dangerous, there's no splinching or anything, because whatever's left behind is left in one of the yous you create, but you currently have no control over your own powers, which is why it's affecting you so badly."

Harry nodded, beginning to understand.

"And if it's Dark Arts, Voldemort probably left it behind, along with my ability to speak Parseltongue."

"He probably left lots of things behind, only you haven't discovered them yet. And, because of your unstable magical abilities, you've somehow managed to Simul-Apparate out two different aspects of your personality, your Id and your Ego. We saw that in the hospital wing, your Simul-Apparation was completely different from the you we know. But they're both still you - only your Id seems to have run amuck somewhat." She smiled.

Harry looked like he'd just been smacked in the face with something nasty. Ron chipped in.

"And - you've been tired because you haven't been sleeping at all! The other bit of you's been running around the castle at night while you're asleep - Seamus and Ginny met your Id, that day. And everything else has just been from lack of sleep - your headaches, dizzy spells. It's not Dark magic after all; we were looking in all the wrong places!"

Ron finished this with a triumphant smile. He looked at Hermione, hopefully, and she gave him a solemn nod. Although she didn't know it, Harry had been right. She'd wanted to find out what was wrong, not just for Harry, but also to satisfy her own curiosity. She had to find out. She'd never let the trio down before. And this, she knew, was a lot to take in - she'd been gobsmacked by the magnitude of it, but she felt assured that she'd organised her discovery sufficiently for Ron and Harry to understand - as well as she did, at the very least.

Suddenly Ron's face fell. In fact, it crashed through the floor and dropped into hell, where it was burned to a crisp and fed into Hades' loo roll.

"Wait. So - the thing you want most is to - get it on with...with Malfoy?"

Hermione ignored him, but Harry felt a thrill run through him as he admitted the truth of Ron's words to himself. Then it hit him. Malfoy knew. Malfoy knew about his dreams, only they weren't dreams. And he'd lived them, Malfoy had lived them. Malfoy had been intimate with him before, for real. He didn't know why it hadn't come to him sooner; presumably he'd been too caught up in Hermione's discovery. But, oh. Oh. He'd made love to Draco Malfoy. For real. And Malfoy obviously hadn't disliked it. But - what should he do about Malfoy? What was the next step?

Hermione looked at him; she saw that he was frowning. She knew his next question would be -

"What do I have to do? I can't possibly carry on like this."

Hermione felt her heat pounding. She had spent a long time thinking about this. She tried to make her voice light as she delivered what rang like a death knell in the quiet room.

"Well, Harry. It's fairly simple. You give in," she said, emphasizing each word, "to your deepest desires."