Disclaimer: I am not JKR, and I'm not trying to be. I'm just playing with her wonderful world and Characters.

A/N: This is based on the challange set forth by Emysabath regarding MPD (alsoreferred to as Dissociative Identity Disorder). I first read a fanfiction about MPD when I found Broken Mind, Fractured Soul, which I loved and recommend it to all. I then read Emysabath's Me, Myself, and I which was also good. I've been reaserching and studying Multiple Personality Disorder, as well as other disorders because I want to write a novel regarding it eventually, and I figured starting with this fanfic would be good practice. This chapter's kind of just to get things set up, and It'll get more interesting soon, I promise. I have lots of plans for this story, but I'm also open to suggestions. And if anyone wants to Beta I'd love you forever. 3

Summary: Harry has Multiple Personality Disorder but no one knows (yet). His friends are concerned. Snape finds out later. Etc. Etc. Etc.

Chapter One: Black Holes

It was a late Sunday afternoon in September and Harry sat curled up in the corner of the Hogwarts library with a rather large tome spread across his lap. The title on the spine of the book read: "The Dead Don't Have to Leave Us: Wizards and Controlling the After Life". Instead of being absorbed in the book however, Harry's attention seemed to be focus on the large windows opposite from his corner which displayed a lovely view of a whole lot of nothing.

As if waking from a trance, Harry shivered and looked down at the book in his lap as if noticing it for the first time. He was in the library? He certainly didn't remember going there, or selecting whatever book he now held. He curiously closed it and read the title of the book. Before he'd even had time to register the whole thing, he dropped the book. He didn't know why but he felt weird. It was almost as if he were going to pass out

"Harry!" said a voice to his right, which was something he found rather disconcerting. He recognized the bushy hair of Hermione. When had she arrived? And why couldn't he remember! "That's only the third time I'm said your name Harry. You've been sitting down here for hours. What's wrong with you!? We were all worried sick."

"Sorry." He mumbled apologetically. "I guess I fell asleep or something…" He did sort of feel like he'd just woken up. The room seemed uncharacteristically foggy and he had an searing pain in his left wrist, which he assumed was from the weight of the book. It wasn't uncommon for him to space out periodically, but the fact that these 'zoning-out' things were becoming more frequent worried him. Before, they'd mostly occurred during the end of school years and the summer. He'd always brushed it off as a seasonal thing, like allergies or something. There were also large gaps of memory from his childhood, but he didn't really know any kids who could remember details from when they were really little. Except Hermione, but she was just like that. Nothing exciting or eventful had happened when he was a kid, so he didn't see any reason why he should remember.

However, ever since the previous May he'd found himself zoning out more than usual. He'd find himself in the kitchen, or class, or sometimes even outside near the forest without any recollection of how he'd gotten there or why. Now that he thought about it, there were lots of things he couldn't remember the details of. Like Quidditch, for example. He'd remember talking about having a game the next day, and he remember waking up in the hospital wing, or his dorm, but nothing of the in-between bits. He couldn't ever remember actually flying. But seeing as almost every time he'd flown he sustained some kind of injury or illness, he didn't find this surprising. When people got hurt they forgot, right?

"Harry! You're doing it again" came Hermione's increasingly shrill voice in his ear.

Harry gave her his best attempt at a sheepish smile." Sorry, Mi."

After giving him a look of mild reproach with a touch of concern, she continued. "Well if you're done staring at the empty space, then we're late for dinner. You coming?"

The glare he received when he paused clearly said he didn't have a choice. "Yeah, yeah, lets go." And with that, he was up.

Hermione waited until he had rounded the corner before she told him to go on without her because a book had caught her attention, which wasn't completely a lie. She knelt down slowly and picked up Harry's discarded book. When she noticed the title she pulled her hand to her mouth with disgust and, if it were possible, sank even further into the floor. "Oh, Harry" she whispered apologetically as a single tear ran down her face. What had she done? Or more importantly, what had she not done?

She knew her friend must be hurting over the death of his godfather, but every time she'd tried to bring it up he'd shrug his shoulders and changed subjects un-phased. He always seemed a little different following those occurrences though. Sometimes he'd become excessively 'Gryfindorish' talking about Quidditch and the like, and other times he'd become darker, more sinister. It was always subtle, but it was there.

She eventually gave up and figured when he was ready to talk he'd come to her, or Ron, or someone and there'd be no harm done, but apparently there was. She silently cursed herself for not pressing the matter further. She had no idea her friend had been holing up in secluded corners reading books on dark magic and the after-life. That couldn't possibly be healthy! But it did, at least, explain all of his seemingly mysterious absences. Something was going on here. Stowing the book in her bag and making a vow to figure out just what that something was she stood and headed for the Great Hall. Research could wait- she needed to keep a closer eye on Harry from now on. That's what friends were