Harry had been poring over the information he’d gathered using his "Mirror, Mirror on the Wall" ability. The mirror had revealed not only the existence of the Horcruxes Voldemort had created but also the accidental Horcrux lodged in his scar. The sheer horror of knowing that fragments of Voldemort’s soul resided within him filled Harry with a deep, visceral disgust. As he grappled with this knowledge, a new ability manifested.

  "Expel": The power to forcibly eject foreign entities or influences from his body or mind.

  It took all his willpower to resist using the ability immediately to expel the Horcrux.

  Still reeling from disgust, Harry turned back to the mirror. He needed a place to expel the Horcrux—somewhere hidden from prying eyes. He wasn’t sure what phenomenon the expulsion might create. Holding the small mirror, he directed his thoughts toward it: "Is there a place in Hogwarts where I can be completely alone, away from all scrutiny?" The mirror’s surface shimmered, revealing the image of a blank wall on the seventh floor. Beneath it, words appeared: "The Room of Requirement."

  Instructions on how to access it followed.

  Intrigued, Harry made his way to the seventh floor. Following the mirror’s instructions, he paced back and forth three times, thinking, 'I need a place to be alone, away from prying eyes, to expel the Horcrux from my scar.' A door materialized before him, and he stepped inside.

  The Room of Requirement had transformed into a quiet, dimly lit space filled with bookshelves, a comfortable armchair, and a large mirror mounted on the wall. It was perfect.

  Harry didn’t hesitate. He focused on his scar, his hands trembling as he activated "Expel". A searing pain tore through him, as though something was being ripped from his very soul. The room seemed to spin, and for a moment, he thought he might pass out. But then, with a final, wrenching sensation, it was over. The Horcrux was gone.

  The strain of expelling the Horcrux and the emotional toll of the revelations proved too much. Harry’s vision blurred, and he felt himself slipping into unconsciousness. The last thing he saw was the faint glow of the mirror before everything went dark.

  When Harry awoke, the first thing that struck him was the cool stillness of the air, heavy with the sterile scent of medicinal potions, dried herbs, and the faint tang of antiseptic. Dim torchlight flickered along the stone walls, casting long shadows across the quiet infirmary. Outside the tall windows, the sky was a deep midnight blue, the moon hanging low, its silver glow filtering through the glass and pooling onto the neatly made beds—most of which were empty.

  He tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness forced him back down. His limbs felt like lead, his head throbbed with a dull ache, and the events of the last thing he remembered-- him expelling the Horcrux.

  A soft rustling broke the silence, and Harry turned his head to see Madam Pomfrey approaching, a candle floating beside her, its golden flame illuminating her stern yet concerned face. Her white robes seemed even crisper in the dim light, her presence steady and unwavering as she reached his bedside.

  “Ah, Mr. Potter, you’re awake,” she said briskly, her voice low but firm. With a practiced flick of her wand, she began casting diagnostic spells, the tip glowing faintly as she examined him. “You gave us quite the scare, you know. How are you feeling?”

  Harry swallowed, his throat dry. His first attempt to speak came out as a rasp, and after clearing his throat, he tried again. “What time is it?”

  “It’s already past supper time, Mr. Potter,” Madam Pomfrey replied, her tone brisk but not unkind.

  “I don’t feel hungry… something tastes off in my mouth,” Harry murmured, frowning as he smacked his lips against the unpleasant bitterness coating his tongue.

  “That would be the potions, Mr. Potter,” she said matter-of-factly before her sharp eyes settled on him. “A house-elf found you unconscious in some hidden room. What were you doing there?”

  Harry’s mind worked quickly. He couldn’t afford too many questions. “I found this hidden room while exploring,” he said, keeping his voice steady. “I must have… I don’t know, tripped or something. Next thing I knew, I was here.”

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  It wasn’t difficult to lie—he had learned early on that sometimes, it was necessary. Lies smoothed over problems. Lies kept trouble at bay.

  Madam Pomfrey studied him for a moment, her lips pressing into a thin line. Finally, she sighed. “It seems whatever happened wasn’t harmful. There’s no trace of a curse or spell,” she said, still frowning but not pushing further. “But be more careful next time. Hogwarts is full of surprises, and not all of them are pleasant.”

  With that, she stepped back, flicking her wand in one final diagnostic sweep before nodding. “You’re free to go. Straight to your dormitory, Mr. Potter. No detours.”

  Harry nodded, slipping out of bed. His limbs still felt a little stiff, but he ignored the discomfort.

  In the dormitory, nestled in the quiet dimness of his four-poster bed, Harry’s calm facade crumbled.

  The memory of that moment clawed at him—the raw, searing pain of expelling the Horcrux, the way his very essence had seemed to unravel. It hadn’t just been agony; it had been something deeper, something primal. For a fleeting, harrowing instant, he had felt himself slipping away, as though he were ceasing to exist. The terror of it still gripped his chest, cold and relentless.

  He clenched his fists, forcing himself to breathe. "I’ve been reckless," he thought bitterly. "Coming to Hogwarts, experimenting with my abilities, thinking I could handle anything…" His jaw tightened. "I need to be more careful."

  The weight of his own mortality settled over him like a heavy cloak. He had survived this time—but if he wasn’t careful, there might not be a next.

  The next morning, Harry barely made it down the stairs before being ambushed by his fellow Gryffindors.

  “What happened? I was so worried! I looked for you everywhere! Professor McGonagall said a house-elf found you—” Hermione’s words tumbled out in a frantic rush.

  Harry raised a hand, cutting her off gently. “Breathe, Hermione. I’m quite alright, as you can see.” He offered a reassuring smile before continuing, “I just found a hidden room and must have tripped or been affected by some kind of magic that knocked me unconscious.”

  That explanation seemed to calm her—if only slightly—but Harry could still see the worry flickering behind her eyes. Shifting the conversation, he asked what had happened in his absence and how the whole school had managed to hear about it.

  He quickly learned that Hermione had been the one to raise the alarm after realizing he hadn’t been seen all day. Unable to shake her growing concern, she had gone straight to Professor McGonagall, who had immediately set a search into motion. By the time a house-elf finally discovered him, the entire castle had been turned upside down. It didn’t take long for rumors to spread—now, it seemed, "everyone" knew something had happened to Harry Potter.

  In the days that followed, he felt the weight of a hundred curious stares wherever he went. Conversations hushed when he entered a room, whispers trailed behind him in the corridors, and wide-eyed first-years gawked at him as though expecting some grand revelation. He felt "suffocated".

  Under this level of scrutiny, using "Reduced Presence" or the "SEP Field" was impossible. He needed another way—some means of continuing his activities unnoticed, all while maintaining the illusion of normalcy. Because if there was one thing Harry knew for certain, it was that he couldn’t afford to stop now.

  The solution came in the form of a new ability: "Clone."

  The name was simple, but the possibilities were endless. It allowed him to create a perfect duplicate of himself, directly linked to his mind. His clone could also use his abilities.

  The first time he tried it, the dual streams of sensory input nearly overwhelmed him. It was like trying to read two books at once while listening to a third. But his "Matryoshka Mind of Babel" adapted quickly, compartmentalizing the flood of information until it felt natural. Soon, he could think in parallel, controlling both bodies seamlessly.

  Harry practiced in secret, using "Clairvoyance" to ensure no one was watching. His clone possessed all his abilities, making it more than just a copy—it was an extension of himself. The real breakthrough came when he realized he could use it to be in two places at once: sitting through a tedious lecture while scouring the Room of Requirements, or lounging in the common room while slipping into the Forbidden Forest.

  It was perfect.

  Until it wasn’t.

  The next morning, as he made his way to the Great Hall, Fred and George Weasley stepped into his path, wearing matching grins.

  “Oi, Harry,” Fred said. “Mind explaining how you were in two places at once?”

  Harry’s heart stuttered. 'How did they know?' He had been so careful, using his "Clairvoyance" to ensure no one was nearby when he used the clone. Panic clawed at his thoughts, but he forced himself to stay calm. He needed a way out.

  And then, as if answering his silent plea, a new ability unfurled in his mind:

  New Ability Unlocked: I Am What I Think I Am

  Description: The power to control what others knew about him.

  Harry offered a vague answer. “It’s a spell I found in a diary my mum left behind,” he said, hating the lie but knowing it was necessary.

  Fred and George, of course, were intrigued. They pressed for details, but Harry feigned exhaustion and excused himself.

  The moment he was alone, he activated "I Am What I Think I Am."

  Focusing on the twins, he unraveled their memories, reshaping them. The knowledge of his clone ability vanished, replaced by a vague recollection of asking him about his hospital visit—just enough to satisfy their curiosity without raising suspicion.

  Harry let out a quiet breath of relief, but he knew he couldn’t afford another mistake. His abilities were powerful, but they weren’t foolproof. If he wanted to keep his secrets safe, he had to be smarter—more cautious.