Chapter Three
Harry made this way up to the Gryffindor Common Room, wondering just how long he'd have his personalities hanging around.
"Ron!" he exclaimed happily as he pushed open the portrait.
Ron grinned warily from the corner where he was playing chess with Neville/Alex.
"Hey, you're smaller than the others," he replied.
Harry scowled.
"I know. So you've met them already?"
Ron nodded.
"The loud one woke us up," said Neville/Alex.
"They've been here for a couple of days," added Ron, "except for the American one. We went and got him yesterday."
Harry nodded.
"I don't remember doing anything to split my personality and send myself back in time though," he said, "it's really strange."
Ron shrugged as Neville/Alex looked for a way to escape check.
"None of you do," he told Harry, "Snape says it's because you were brewing a Forgetfulness Potion when you made it explode."
"But why would I do that?" asked Harry. "I'm good at Potions!"
Ron grinned embarrassedly.
"Well," he said, "Draco was being a bit … silly …"
"He was sucking his fingers," said Neville/Alex.
"Makes sense," accepted Harry, "where is Draco, by the way?"
"Hospital Wing, probably," said Ron, "he went to check on you about an hour ago."
Harry allowed his confusion to show through.
"That's where your unconscious Seventh Year body is," explained Ron, "frankly, I'm surprised they let him be alone with it."
Harry ran into the Hospital Wing, keen to see his boyfriend again.
"Draco!" he called joyfully.
Draco looked up from the chair in which he was sitting and sighed.
"Hello," he mumbled.
"Draco," said Harry, "it's me! The Real Me™!"
The blonde looked him up and down, and sighed again.
"Look, Harry," he started, "I think we should take a break."
Harry gasped, his jaw falling open.
"What?" he choked out. "Why?"
"I think we'd be better off as friends," replied Draco.
"But … but … Drakey-bear …" Harry stuttered, "I love you …"
Draco stood up angrily.
"Do you know how hard it is to be sexually attracted to an eleven-year old boy, Harry? Do you? I feel like a really hot Michael Jackson – and I don't like it!"
And, with that, he stomped out the door.
Harry sighed.
"I need pie,"
Harry tickled the pear on the portrait leading to the Kitchens and moaned as it squirmed gleefully.
"Maybe I should just transfigure myself into a pear …" he muttered miserably.
"Master Harry, sir!" squeaked Dobby, as Harry entered the Kitchens.
"'Lo, Dobby," said Harry, "could I have some pie?"
Dobby beamed.
"Yes, Master Harry, sir!" he shrilled. "Anything else that Master Harry be needing?"
Harry sighed.
"Perhaps some chocolate," he replied, "I'm going to need a lot of comfort food to get over the fact that Draco broke up with me."
"Master Draco dropped Master Harry like a dirty dishrag?" asked Dobby, his eyes wide.
Harry nodded mutely.
Dobby cleared his throat.
"Perhaps Master Harry is needing some of Dobby's special company?"
Harry gagged as the House-Elf wiggled his ears suggestively.
"Actually," he said, "I'm not feeling that hungry. I'm just going to go flying."
Harry walked slowly down to grassy sloped of the Hogwarts Grounds towards the Broomstick Shed wondering how he could fix the horrendous mess that currently constituted as his life.
Suddenly, he heard a muffled pounding from within the shed.
Cautiously, he unlocked the door and slowly pulled it open.
Harry then gave a small cry as a figure barrelled out of the storage building as hugged him with a tightness to rival Mrs Weasley.
"Oh, Harry," sobbed the figure, "I knew you'd figure out my morse code thumping!"
The figure pulled back and Harry realised that he was looking into the face of Hermione Granger.
"Arg!" screamed Harry. "Go back to Missouri, bitch!"
"What?" said Hermione, looking utterly confused. "I've never been to Missouri."
Harry peered out from behind his hands to study the girl before him.
He took in the bushy hair, the ordinary brown eyes, the not quite perfect figure, and considered.
'She doesn't look like the Hermione from last year,' he thought, 'but I should check, just to be sure.'
"Hermione," asked Harry aloud, "what's your opinion on hot pants?"
Hermione looked puzzled, but answered anyway.
"They're totally impractical for the British climate," she said, "not to mention slightly … tartish …"
Harry beamed and threw his arms around his friend.
"It's you!" he said happily. "It's really you!"
"Who else would it be?" asked Hermione. "Why are you so short? And why didn't anyone try to find me all last year?"
Harry sighed.
"It's a long story," he said.
Hermione shrugged.
"You better tell me anyway,"