We were all packed into a magically expanded train compartment, courtesy of yours truly. The usual space now stretched luxuriously, complete with extra cushions, a fold-down snack shelf, and a portable warming charm humming softly in the ceiling. Hogwarts Express had never looked so personalized.
I sat in the corner with Harry, Tracey, and Luna—our newest addition to the band and our newly anointed pianist. She had taken to the keys like the instrument had been waiting for her.
"No, no, it should sound more powerful," I said, gesturing toward Luna. "You'll open it with a clean run on the piano. Four bars. Then we come in strong."
I cast Sonorus Harmonia on myself, cleared my throat with unnecessary drama, and sang the opening line to demonstrate the tempo and tone.
"Tonight, I'm gonna have myself a real good time…"
"Yeah, like that," I said, nodding at Harry.
He followed through, his voice half-nervous but bold enough.
"I feel ali-I-ive…"
Tracey grinned. She liked this one. Something about it lit her up. It was loud, fast, thrilling. Classic Muggle rebellion in musical form.
"And the world, I'll turn it inside out, yeah
And floating around in ecstasy, so…"
I raised a brow and pointed at the Carrow twins, sitting as they always did—shoulders squared, backs straight, expressions unreadable. They did not sing. They simply recited, in perfect synchrony, their voices flat and robotic:
"(Don't stop me now)
(Don't stop me)"
The music cut off abruptly, and I clapped once.
"Great. Good start, everyone," I said cheerily, then looked straight at the twins. "We'll work on enthusiasm. And maybe volume. Maybe tone. Maybe... everything." I threw up both hands in mock jazz hands, which sent Tracey into a fit of giggles.
The train rocked gently beneath us, and for a moment, everything felt exactly right. No danger, no Gacha pulls, no Gringotts heists. Just a handful of oddballs singing Queen.
We leaned back into our seats and talked about the holidays.
Everyone had loved their personalized gifts. The twins were still wearing the serpent-shaped pins I had given them, charmed to hiss and heat up slightly whenever they sensed dark magic nearby. It gave them a faint aura of menace I thought they secretly enjoyed.
Luna had absolutely adored her enchanted animal encyclopedia. The pages moved like magical paintings, the animals blinking and shifting as if alive. Her current obsession was the platypus. She had named it Edison. He apparently liked crumpets.
As for me, well, I had been busy. Technically not me, but my clones. Some of them had started requesting names. A few even developed distinct quirks and personalities. I didn't mind. I controlled them. They were loyal. And when I dispelled them, I could summon whichever version I wanted. Convenient chaos, curated to taste.
While the rest of the school drank cocoa and played in the snow, my clones had been infiltrating Death Eater properties. Slipping through wards. Stealing from vaults. Lifting rare items right out from under cursed portraits and warded doors.
My stealth capabilities were nearly unmatched. My studies in magical architecture and enchantments now surpassed most Hogwarts graduates. Curse-breaking had become a side hobby. Cloaking spells were like breathing.
My inventory had expanded into a hoarder's dream—rows and rows of Muggle and magical goods. Potions. Tools. Sweet wrappers. Banned books. Forgotten trinkets from dying lineages. If it could be stolen, salvaged, or summoned, I probably had it.
Still, there was one thing I lacked.
A way into Gringotts.
A foolproof, undetectable, elegant plan to breach the most secure vault in the wizarding world. I had sketches. Theories. Even five different contingency plans. But none of them met my expectations.
Not yet.
That is why I have made a decision.
No more random Gacha rolls for now.
I am saving my GP. Every last point. Until I have enough to upgrade Plastic Man to Legendary.
If his next evolution becomes what I suspect it might… then I will finally have a body that can slip through wards, blend into stone, dodge goblin detection, and survive a magical security sweep.
And when that day comes, I will not knock on Gringotts' doors.
And grab that cup.
<><><><><><><>
Clone P.O.V. (Shadow)
Darkness is my ally.
I was born in it, molded by it.
I didn't see the light until I was already a man, by then it was nothing to me but blinding.
"Shadow, hurry up, mate."
My nameless clone partner darts ahead, moving like wind dressed in boots, heading toward the decrepit shack slumped in the clearing like it gave up decades ago.
The Gaunt Family Shack.
The place smells like old curses and older pride. This is where the bloodline of Slytherin withered into whispers and dust. Now it guards a fragment of the Dark Lord's soul, and our boss has sent us to retrieve the ring and destroy the Horcrux hidden within.
Fitting. One soul-born parasite meeting another.
"To think a bound soul can match me," I murmur under my breath, "I, the night."
The other clone sighs. "You know we are literally the same person, right?"
"False," I respond. "You lack edge. You speak too loudly. You cast light-based spells."
"We share the same memories."
"But not the same gravitas."
He ignores me and begins scanning for magical triggers. I crouch low, extending my wand with the precision of a scalpel. Shadows slither along the ground like loyal pets, whispering beneath the surface as I guide them through the twisting wards.
The shack resists at first, spitting out curses like a wounded animal, but my shadows soothe them, trick them, slip through their seams. A moment later, the last lock clicks open with a sigh.
I step inside, the dust curling like fog around my boots.
There it is.
The ring.
Hidden beneath the floor of a splintered table as if it has not been screaming for decades. The gold band is cracked, tarnished, still pulsing faintly with dark magic, like a rotting heartbeat trapped in metal.
My partner lifts it carefully with gloved hands. "This one's strong."
I nod. "They all are. That is why we burn them."
He begins the purification. I reinforce the shadows around us, just in case the soul fragment tries something clever. The air thickens as the spell flares, golden light meeting black essence. The ring trembles. Screams.
A thin, spectral image of Tom Riddle's younger self bursts upward, writhing, then crumbles like ash in wind.
We watch in silence as it fades.
Another one down.
Nagini is still not a Horcrux. Not yet.
That leaves three.
The cup, sealed in the bowels of Gringotts behind goblin magic and dragon flame.
The locket, buried in Grimmauld Place, nestled in the cradle of a haunted house.
And Harry Potter. Our friend. Our mission. Our mystery.
I feel the weight of the prophecy we were never meant to carry.
But we will. Because we can. Because we must.
By the end of the year, all three will be gone.
And Voldemort will be mortal.
And I will return to the shadows.
Until I am needed again.
<><><><><><><>
The Undercroft was silent, save for the steady hum of magic in the air.
I knelt on the obsidian rune circle I had carved earlier that week, wand in one hand, a shimmering length of spell-etched silver threaded through my fingers. The bracelet hovered midair before me, rotating slowly, runes glowing in sequence around its matte-black band.
Kid Dynamite stood at my left, arms crossed, watching with the solemn expression of someone who had accidentally developed taste. Two other clones sat nearby, one polishing a kunai made of himself, the other writing notes with a quill that never touched parchment.
"Last enchantment," I said softly. "Focus."
With a flick of my wand, I traced the final rune in the air — Patefacio Speculum. The symbol burned gold, then flowed into the bracelet like ink into silk. The metal pulsed once. Then twice. Then stilled.
I set my wand down and gently reached for the bracelet.
It was warm.
Not hot, not charged, just... ready.
I slipped it onto my wrist. It adjusted instantly, snug but unobtrusive, as if it had been part of me all along. The runes shifted slightly, aligning with the faint pulse of my magic. One rune, the central one, glowed brighter.
I tapped it with my wand and whispered, "Sanctum."
A sound like water and wind echoed through the Undercroft.
Before me, the air rippled. A circle spread outward like a silver ring tossed into a still pond. Within seconds, the ripples smoothed into a mirror-like surface, slightly translucent, surrounded by glowing runic threads.
Through it, I saw home.
My home.
The Suitcase World.
A towering gothic hall stretched out beyond the portal, softly lit by enchanted lanterns that floated like fireflies. A massive mirror pulsed in the distance — the anchor point. Floating staircases curved upward and downward, walls shifted gently as if dreaming, and ambient light glowed with a warmth that no sun could imitate.
Kid Dynamite exhaled. "That's not a room," he whispered. "That's a home."
I stepped through.
The portal expanded to match my stride, smooth and seamless, the sensation like passing through cool silk.
Inside, the Main Hall opened wide. Polished floors reflected the glowing ceiling — enchanted to simulate the sky above Hogwarts. Runes embedded in the stone beneath my feet pulsed once in greeting.
From the hub, I moved quickly, checking each section.
The Menagerie Arcana is an interconnected series of magically-expanded biomes, each one customized to accommodate and nurture different species of magical and mundane animals.They have Runic Bio-Stabilizer, Freedom-First Enchantments, Harmony Barrier, and Creature-Care Interface.
The Library Wing responded to my thoughts. Shelves re-shelved themselves. A floating index globe hovered beside a shelf marked Dark Theory: Volumes Redacted by Ministry Order. My clone's handwritten notes flew into a hovering satchel and sorted themselves alphabetically. Good.
The Greenhouse Biome was quiet and alive. Illusionary sunlight filtered through magical glass. My whisper-willow rustled as I passed.
The Forge was already warm. The enchanted flame danced in anticipation. My cursed silver stock shimmered in its stasis vault. Materials labeled Do Not Touch glowed faintly behind a magical barrier.
The Hall of Faces shifted as I entered. Dozens of reflections morphed in mirrors — faces, bodies, silhouettes. One of the clones entered behind me, tapped a preset labeled Professor Sprout, and instantly transformed into a convincing imitation — voice, size, gait, everything.
I nodded, satisfied.
Vault Room: intact. Cursed relics sorted and humming in their stasis cubes. Every item labeled, magically dated, and aura-locked. My wand triggered the voice-and-blood lock on command. Excellent.
Private Quarters: untouched, exactly how I left it. Starry ceiling rotating above a bed that adjusted to my mood. A small vinyl record player floated nearby. A snack cabinet blinked open at my presence and presented a cup of warm spiced cocoa. The mirror by the dresser spoke up.
"You're late."
I smirked. "I had to finish you first."
Back in the Main Hall, I raised my hand.
"Contractum."
The rooms shimmered. The portal flickered. I stepped out.
Behind me, the mirror rippled once, then sealed itself into the bracelet with a soft chime. The rune glowed faintly. Silent. Sleeping.
I looked at the bracelet. My bracelet. The world on my wrist.
"Better than Scamander's," I said.
Kid Dynamite scoffed. "Scamander has a beast zoo. You've got a throne room and a clone training facility."
"Exactly."
We stood in silence for a moment.
Then I whispered again, "Sanctum."
The mirror appeared once more.
This time, we all stepped in.
Ready to build. Ready to train. Ready to plan.
And deep beneath Hogwarts, the Undercroft sealed itself behind us. Silent. Secret. Watching.
Just the way I liked it.