The Great Hall buzzed with morning chatter, the clinking of cutlery and rustling of parchment filling the air. At the Gryffindor table, Harry idly pushed his eggs around his plate, his gaze unfocused. To anyone watching, he was just another student lost in thought, another tired boy easing into the day.

  But while his body remained seated, his clone was already in motion.

  Moving unseen through the "Gap", it slipped between the folds of reality, traversing distances in an instant. The "Weaver’s Map" had already charted the way—the most efficient path, the weakest defenses, the perfect sequence of strikes. All the clone had to do was follow.

  Its first stop was Malfoy Manor. Without so much as a whisper, it emerged in the darkened bedroom of Lucius Malfoy. The air smelled of polished wood and expensive cologne, but the clone paid no mind. It moved with purpose, silent and precise. Beneath the floorboards, hidden from ordinary sight, lay Tom Riddle’s diary. The clone reached down, fingers brushing against the aged leather, and pulled it free.

  Below, in the grand dining room, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy conversed over breakfast, unaware that a piece of their past had just been rewritten. Even Dobby, dutiful and ever watchful, failed to sense the theft.

  A heartbeat later, the clone vanished into the "Gap", leaving no trace behind.

  At the Gryffindor table, Harry lifted his pumpkin juice to his lips, his expression unreadable. The hunt had begun.

  Beneath the castle, where the air was thick with centuries of secrets, the Chamber of Secrets lay undisturbed. Its damp stone walls bore witness to horrors past, yet tonight, it would serve as a silent execution ground.

  The clone stood before the diary, its pages humming with dark magic. With a flicker of perception, it unraveled the spellwork binding the Horcrux, tracing the soul fragment’s tangled presence within the artifact. Then, without hesitation, it invoked "Knot of Undoing."

  The diary didn’t burn. It didn’t tear or disintegrate. It simply ceased. The diary unraveled like a ball of wool, vanishing from existence before the air even had time to mourn its absence.

  Far away, in the depths of the Albanian forest, a wraith staggered. Voldemort’s formless essence recoiled as if struck, a piercing wail ripping through the night. Pain. Loss. A fracture in the foundation of his immortality. Something was hunting him. And for the first time in decades, he felt fear.

  Through the "Gap", the clone drifted past layers of reality, re-emerging within the heart of Gringotts. The goblin-forged defenses were formidable—cursed vault doors, enchanted detectors, layers upon layers of ancient warding. None of it mattered. The clone moved through walls like mist, slipping unnoticed into Bellatrix Lestrange’s vault.

  Inside, gold gleamed in the dim torchlight, piled high in careless excess. But amid the wealth, there it sat—Hufflepuff’s goblet, humming with malevolence. The clone reached for it, perception slicing through its intricate spellwork. Twisted, parasitic magic coiled within, another piece of Voldemort’s soul clinging desperately to existence.

  Another thread to be severed.

  With practiced ease, the clone invoked "Knot of Undoing" once more. The goblet flickered—just for a moment—before it, too, ceased.

  Two down.

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  The hunt continued.

  The clone’s next stop was Grimmauld Place, his godfather’s residence. There, he retrieved the locket from Kreacher, the old house-elf. Confused and distraught, Kreacher raged and wept, convinced he had failed his master Regulus’s final wish. The clone left as swiftly as he had arrived. Had he lingered, he might have uncovered a truth that, while insignificant in the grand scheme of things, could have given Sirius a more favorable view of his late brother, Regulus. But Harry had asked for the most efficient steps, not the most favorable ones.

  The elf couldn’t bear to live such a shame that he finally committed suicide leaving Sirius confused when he returned Home.

  "Kreacher finally lost it. Good riddance." Sirius had never liked the old elf. He was a lingering shadow of a past Sirius wanted to forget.

  Returning to the Chamber of Secrets, the clone stood over the locket, its surface gleaming dully in the dim chamber light. With a mere flicker of will, the "Knot of Undoing" unraveled it, and another fragment of Voldemort’s soul ceased to exist.

  The next target lay in a forgotten ruin: the Gaunt shack.

  Through the clone’s "Weaver’s Gaze", the layers of curses and traps surrounding the Horcrux unfolded like a complex web—intricate, but not impenetrable. With methodical precision, the clone navigated through the lethal enchantments, stepping into the decayed remains of the Gaunt legacy.

  At the heart of the ruin lay the ring, its gold band dull with age, its black stone gleaming ominously. The moment the clone reached for it, the ring fought back. A compulsion surged through the air, an insidious pull demanding obedience. But Harry’s "Matryoshka Mind" dissected it instantly, categorizing it as mere data—an empty command, stripped of power.

  Then, as his perception deepened, he saw something unexpected. The magical structure of the stone embedded in the ring was unlike anything he had encountered, save for one artifact—his Cloak of Invisibility. Recognition dawned.

  The Deathly Hallows.

  If his cloak was "the" Cloak, then this stone… could only be the Resurrection Stone.

  The Horcrux and its deadly curses were bound to the ring, not the stone itself. Destroying it outright was an option, but the stone’s nature was an unknown variable—one he wasn’t willing to risk erasing.

  With careful precision, the clone invoked the "Knot of Undoing". The cursed ring and the Horcrux dissolved into nothingness, untied from existence itself.

  The Resurrection Stone remained.

  The clone pocketed it and vanished into the Gap.

  Back at Hogwarts, the clone stepped into the vast, chaotic expanse of the Room of Hidden Things. Towers of forgotten relics and discarded secrets loomed around him, the air thick with dust and the weight of centuries. But the clone moved with certainty, his perception cutting through the clutter like a blade.

  There, nestled atop a rotting cabinet, lay Ravenclaw’s diadem. Its once-brilliant jewels were dulled by time, yet the dark presence within pulsed with quiet malevolence. Without hesitation, the clone reached out. The "Knot of Undoing" unraveled its existence in an instant—no fanfare, no resistance. Just another Horcrux erased, another irreplaceable artifact lost to history.

  The task was nearly complete. Only one fragment remained.

  The clone emerged in the depths of the Albanian forest, where shadows twisted between gnarled trees. The air was thick with decay, the silence broken only by the faint, panicked whispers of something that should not be.

  Voldemort’s wraith.

  It drifted in frantic retreat, its translucent form flickering like a candle in the wind. It could sense the hunt was over. But before it could flee, the clone materialized before it, implacable and unyielding.

  The clone used the ability "Rooted to the Spot" and froze the wraith in place.

  "Potter! Why are you here? Why can’t I move?" the wraith shrieked, its voice raw with fury and something far worse. Fear.

  Harry’s clone met its gaze, unblinking. "I am here for revenge," he said, his voice like ice. "You took everything from me—my parents, my childhood. Now, I will make you face your greatest fear: death."

  No hesitation. No mercy.

  With a final, decisive motion, the clone invoked the "Knot of Undoing".

  The wraith unraveled like frayed thread, its very essence pulled apart, thread by thread until there was nothing left. No scream. No curse. Not even an echo.

  Only silence.

  Voldemort was no more.

  Harry(clone) stood frozen. Every trace of the dark lord's existence had been wiped clean, leaving behind an absence more profound than death.

  And yet, as the finality settled over him, the triumph he had expected did not come. There was only a strange, quiet relief, like the release of a breath held too long. And beneath it—hollowness.