Out of Air Every Wednesday I stand outside the door to the psychiatric wing of St. Mungo's Hospital, holding my breath. Somewhere beyond those heavy metal doors is a small, grey room with walls padded thickly. My sister is in that room. I try to summon the courage to swing the thick double doors open and step inside. But I am worried about her. I cannot help but wonder - which She is inside?

They diagnosed her with Multiple Personality Disorder three years ago. Years before that, she had been labeled manic-depressive. I didn't understand. I couldn't understand. I couldn't understand why my sister - my other half - my alter ego - my TWIN - could be so sick. She was supposed to be just like me - we were supposed to be identical. But it's she who is lying on that naked bed in that room, not I.

I am wondering how she is today. WHO she is today. Maybe she's Rue - beautiful and sad, forever in mourning. Unseeing and unhearing, lost in her sorrow. She was Rue for almost a full year before Mei appeared. Mei is sparkly, cheerful, and so perky that it makes me ill. She is so shiny and glittery; so gaudy and loud that I am embarrassed by her. No one can talk to Mei. It's like she's drunk, high, and crazy all at once. Paint the town; paint it gold.

Sometimes she is Birch. That's when she seems the craziest. She sits on the edge of the bed and laughs, a low, tremoring laugh that sends chills down your spine. If she speaks, it's in a tongue that no one but she understands - or, worse, in total nonsense. "The acorns!" she'll scream passionately, throwing herself at the walls. "The acorns, no, no!" She refers to herself as Birch - I call her Babble.

There's only one other side to my sister. My twin. The last Her has no name. The nurses have nicknamed it "she-devil". I am always scared that she'll be She-Devil. Of all her sides, this seems the least like Her. I know when she is She-Devil when I hear the tortured, outraged screams from her room, where I know she is lying spread-eagle on her bed (devoid of pillows or blankets), restrained by the wrists, ankles, waist, and neck.

She frightens me.

But every week I go. Duty? No. Love? Not really. There's nothing left of my sister to love. Remorse? Regret? Yes. I miss her. I want her back. Mirune...

Mirune, you're not Mei, or Rue, or Birch, or the She-Devil. You're my sister - my sweet Mirune, with a kind word for every one, even the Slytherins. You're not crazy, Mirune, you're only pretending to be - stop pretending, please! Stop pretending...get better, get well, and come home to Hogwarts. Come and teach with me, Mirune, there's enough room for two Professor McGonagalls. Oh, Mirune...

I always take a deep breath when I reach those doors. But one of these times, I'm going to run out of air...

Authoress' Note: Oh, Gosh, my sis wrote a sequel. Read it http://www.fanfiction.net/index.fic?action=story-read&storyid=164389> here! (It rocks. Really. Go read, review.)