The invisible Coby couldn't help but soften his expression, speaking without revealing himself: "You're most welcome."
"Now then, what problem have you encountered that you can't solve?" Gemini asked, noting how Banner's posture had relaxed slightly.
Banner hastily set down his cup and straightened in his chair. "My name is Bruce—Bruce Banner. I'm a scientist, and my current problem is..." Banner hesitated, uncertainty flickering across his weathered features as he struggled to articulate his condition.
"It's perfectly alright. Continue—I'll do my best to understand," Gemini said with gentle encouragement, her voice carrying the patient warmth she reserved for brilliant minds.
Banner drew a shuddering breath and pressed on. "One of my experiments went catastrophically wrong. I was exposed to direct gamma radiation for an extended period, and as a result, I became... a monster!" The last word emerged as a broken whisper as Banner buried his face in his hands.
Gemini leaned forward with quiet compassion. "What sort of monster? Please don't torment yourself like this. You should know—people often call someone like me a monster as well. So truly, don't worry. Take all the time you need."
Banner lifted his head in genuine astonishment, staring at this delicate, ethereally beautiful young woman. He couldn't fathom what manner of person would ever describe her as monstrous.
"There's another consciousness inside me," Banner continued, his voice gaining strength. "Whenever I experience stress or my heart rate accelerates, I transform into something else entirely—a massive green creature with no rational thought, driven only by the need to destroy everything in its path."
Gemini touched her chin thoughtfully. Something about this description struck a chord of familiarity...
"Moreover, I once attempted suicide, but it proved futile. The moment I sustain any significant injury, I involuntarily transform into that green behemoth." Banner slumped against the sofa cushions, defeat radiating from every line of his body. "This creature has obliterated everything I've ever cared about—my academic career, my research, my..."
"One moment, please. I believe I understand what you're describing." Gemini rose with sudden purpose. "Let me retrieve something that might help examine your condition properly. Don't despair."
With that, Gemini hurried back to her private chambers, throwing open her enchanted trunk and rummaging through its contents. "Where could it be? I distinctly remember packing it," she muttered, tossing aside various magical artifacts.
"What exactly are you searching for?" A sardonic voice suddenly emerged from the wardrobe, causing Gemini to jump.
Recognition dawned immediately. "Professor Snape!"
Gemini yanked open the wardrobe doors and carefully extracted Snape's portrait. "I remember when Headmaster Dumbledore examined Harry years ago—there was an instrument capable of detecting soul conditions. After the war concluded, it was entrusted to Harry, who subsequently gave it to me. I'm absolutely certain I brought it on this trip, but I've completely forgotten where I stored it."
Snape pressed his painted fingers to his temples in exasperation. "Where is your house-elf? Honestly, witnessing you in this state of disorganization, I genuinely question whether you deserve to call yourself a Slytherin!"
Gemini hunched her shoulders sheepishly and turned the portrait to face away from her. "Coby, please help me locate it."
Within seconds, an ornate silver instrument materialized before Gemini, its surface gleaming with ancient enchantments. "There it is!" Gemini exclaimed, accepting the device with obvious relief. "Please tidy up in here!" Then she prepared to depart.
"Wait!" Professor Snape called sharply.
"You've never operated that particular instrument before. Don't attempt to use it carelessly," Snape said with characteristic awkwardness, his concern barely concealed beneath his usual acerbic manner.
Gemini immediately grasped his meaning, her expression brightening. "Would the Professor be willing to instruct me? This gentleman's soul must represent an extraordinarily rare phenomenon!"
"Very well," Snape replied with reserved dignity, then abruptly realized Gemini had turned his portrait around. His painted features darkened thunderously.
Gemini, oblivious to Snape's murderous expression, immediately requested Coby's assistance in positioning the portrait on the sofa directly facing Banner, then followed it back to the parlor.
Banner had consumed several cups of the mysterious water by now—the liquid seemed inexhaustible, refilling itself the moment he took each sip.
When he observed a portrait floating through the air to settle against the opposite sofa, Banner still started with surprise. The figure depicted was unfamiliar yet deeply unsettling—greasy black hair of shoulder length framed a gaunt face, while a prominent aquiline nose lent him a severely harsh appearance. Most disturbing were his obsidian eyes, which seemed to bore directly through the canvas with predatory intensity. The portrait possessed such uncanny realism that Banner half-expected the man to burst from the frame and unleash verbal artillery upon him.
Gemini placed the silver instrument carefully on the coffee table, turning toward the portrait. "Professor Snape, how exactly does this device function?"
The painted figure's lips moved with startling fluidity. "Direct the circular aperture toward him!"
Before Banner could fully process the impossibility of a conversing portrait, he watched Gemini manipulate the strange apparatus according to the painting's instructions.
She whispered an incantation under her breath, and the instrument immediately began emitting streams of pearl-white vapor. The mist coalesced above the device, forming a translucent, silvery replica of Banner himself.
The vapor-Banner suddenly shifted, his entire form blazing emerald as his body expanded dramatically. Within moments, the misty figure had transformed into something else entirely—a muscular giant easily two or three times Banner's original size, retaining perhaps a third of his facial features.
Gemini prodded the newly formed green apparition with her wand tip. "What relationship exists between these two entities?"
The vapor immediately began reshaping itself once more. Soon, an extraordinary scene materialized before them: Banner and the green creature stood back-to-back, their lower bodies merging into a single form of intertwined silver and emerald.
Snape arched one painted eyebrow with obvious interest. Gemini appeared genuinely puzzled. Banner studied the display with dawning comprehension.
"So what precisely does this configuration represent?" Gemini asked, her brow furrowed in concentration.
"It indicates this Muggle has developed a severe psychological disorder—what you might term dissociative identity disorder," Snape explained, his mouth curving into a sardonic smile. "From current appearances, the condition remains salvageable. However, should this deterioration continue, once the two personalities achieve complete formation, they will manifest as entirely separate souls. At that juncture, one must inevitably destroy the other to survive."
Banner forced himself to ignore the surreal reality of seeking medical advice from a portrait, focusing entirely on his predicament. "How might this condition be resolved?"
Snape considered the question with scholarly precision. "Given your circumstances, two options present themselves. First, we could attempt direct elimination of your alternate soul. However, the procedure's precision proves difficult to control—you might very well perish alongside him. Even assuming success, since your souls haven't achieved complete separation, another personality will inevitably regenerate from this foundation. The reborn consciousness might possess independent thought, potentially superior intelligence to your own, ultimately resulting in your complete absorption."
"And the second alternative?" Banner inquired with barely contained urgency.
"The second approach requires patience—waiting until your soul achieves complete separation from his consciousness. Once that occurs, he will exist as an entirely independent personality. At that point, whether we choose containment or elimination becomes significantly more manageable," Snape replied with clinical detachment.
Banner couldn't suppress a troubled frown. "Does he currently possess... independent thoughts? Right now?"
Snape released a derisive snort. "Naturally he does. You witnessed the evidence yourself—you're connected by merely half your essence now. Your periodic episodes of lost control represent his attempts to wrestle bodily dominance from you. And I must acknowledge—he has preserved your life on multiple occasions."
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