The closer Adele got to the doors of the Chamber of Secrets, the more clearly she could hear someone humming under their breath. Someone was whistling a simple tune, breaking the oppressive silence of the dungeon. Right at the entrance, she saw Victor. He was leaning against the wall, smiling serenely.
— Where were you?! — she asked with a frown. Adele rushed to hug him, but he put a hand out, stopping her gently yet firmly.
— If you mean "me," then I was always nearby, — he said cryptically. — But if you mean "me as my actual self," then I don't know. The original is always aware of what a clone does, but a clone doesn't have that power. We are merely executors.
— A clone? What are you talking about?
— I'll explain sometime later. For now, I think I'll take this, — he twitched his fingers, and Riddle's diary instantly appeared in his hands. Adele hadn't even felt it vanish from her pocket. — I don't want you carrying this filth around.
— Who are you?! — Adele turned completely somber and gripped her wand tighter.
— Don't worry, I am your brother. Or rather, a copy of him from nearly two months ago. But you can ask about that later. For now... please, be careful.
— Why? Is someone threatening me?
— No. As long as I am here, no one will touch you, — the Clone smirked sadly. — You must be careful with me. With your brother.
Adele was utterly confused. She watched him, trying to find the catch.
— Ha-ah... Well fine, I hope the original really is asleep, — Victor-Clone rubbed the bridge of his nose. — You see, he created me—a strong clone—to protect you. And here I am. Ha-ha! Yes, I know how it sounds. I am Victor, your brother, but only a part of him. Anyway, it doesn't matter right now. Let's get to the point: when you prompted Lockhart to use a powerful spell that caused him to successfully leave this world—by the way, I'm damn proud of you for that—the main Victor arrived. And I didn't recognize him. I don't know if it's the Sharingan or if his bipolar disorder has finally peaked, but he is... different.
Adele stood with a frozen face, trying to digest this flood of information.
— Are you drunk? — she finally managed to squeeze out.
The clone froze for a second and then burst into sincere laughter.
— Ha-ha-ha! No, darling, quite the opposite. Right now, I am the most sober and sensible version of your brother you have ever seen.
— Alright, — Adele nodded slowly. — Let's assume all of this is true. Are you saying my real brother might hurt me?
— No, dear. I would never hurt you intentionally. Just in case... keep an eye on him. Until he realizes himself that something is wrong and fixes the problem.
— We could just tell him. Why wait?
— Mmm, we could, but... — The clone shook his head tiredly. — Until he realizes it himself, all warnings are just empty noise to him. It's easy being a clone: I know my purpose, I know what I want and what I will do. But being the real Victor isn't easy. It's an eternal stream of thoughts that changes with his mood. Understand, Adele... I am afraid of myself, because sometimes I don't understand what I might do tomorrow...
Before the Clone could finish, his figure blurred into a mist and vanished without a trace. Adele remained alone in the empty corridor. A whirlwind of thoughts and suspicions spun in her head. Taking a deep breath, she decided that at the first opportunity, she would have a serious talk with her brother. With her real brother.
The Headmaster's office was quiet, save for the rhythmic ticking of the instruments on the shelves. Victor's clone appeared out of thin air in front of Dumbledore's desk. The real Victor was sitting in the Headmaster's chair, writing something intently; Riddle's diary already lay beside him on the desk.
— So, you're not sleeping? Well, perhaps that's even for the better, — the Clone said, breaking the silence.
Victor, without looking up from the parchment, raised a hand, signaling the copy to wait. The clone sighed heavily and took a seat in the opposite chair as if he owned the place. Finally, Victor finished, scanned what he had written, grimaced in dissatisfaction, and incinerated the letter with a short gesture. The ash settled soundlessly onto the polished wood.
— Damn... Apologizing is clearly not my forte, — he rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly and gave a crooked smile.
— Apologizing? To whom? — the Clone huffed.
Victor finally looked up at his copy. His eyes scanned the Clone intently, almost studiously.
— Why are you scaring my sweet little Adele with your prophecies?
— I'm not scaring her, — the Clone crossed his arms. — I'm only asking her to be more cautious. Have you forgotten? I was created to protect her. And in my humble opinion, you currently represent the greatest threat to her.
Victor rested his chin on his hand and stared at his double, narrowing his eyes predatorily.
— Remind me... exactly when did I create you?
— As soon as I returned to school, — the Clone answered without hesitation.
Victor nodded slowly.
— And you think I've changed that much since then?
— You are changing right now, — the Clone specified. — And I feel that this is far from the limit.
— And what led my sick brain from nearly two months ago to such conclusions?
— What led to it? Well, for a start—what the hell are you doing here?! — the Clone gestured around the empty Headmaster's office. — You let Adele go into the Chamber of Secrets. You did something to the basilisk. And now you're hanging out here, scribbling notes. I don't understand what would have to happen to me to act like this. Is it the Sharingan? Is it burning away the remnants of your common sense?
— No.
Both Victors turned in alarm at the voice. Another clone was standing by the window, but this one looked different: no blindfold, icy blue eyes, and he carried the same strange aura as the real Victor.
— Did you learn to create clones? — Victor stared at the first double in shock.
— Are you stupid? No, of course not! I didn't do anything! — the first clone waved his hands indignantly.
— It wasn't him. It was me. Or rather, you, — the newcomer explained, unceremoniously sitting right on Dumbledore's desk. — Specifically, the side of you that completely agrees with this guy in the chair.
Victor frowned agonizingly, clutching his hair with his fingers.
— What the hell... I'm multiplying entities without even knowing it.
— "Pretty Boy" is right: something is wrong with me, and it started long before the Sharingan awakened, — the second clone nodded at the original. — I suspect it's all about the soul. Losing a piece of it didn't pass without a trace—I've become unstable. The emotional background has shifted.
— Но everything was fine! — the first clone (the older one) pondered. — Can you explain exactly when all this crap started?
— Probably when I started having doubts about the Sharingan. I got really mushy then. And when I kissed Daphne—I completely stopped being myself, — the second clone replied.
— What?! I kissed Daphne? Oh! Well done, man! — the first clone applauded enthusiastically.
The second clone smirked self-importantly:
— Yeah, I know. But now look at the original: sitting here, unable to say a word to her face, writing apologies on parchment...
They both stared at Victor simultaneously. He looked away awkwardly, feeling his ears begin to burn.
— Well, what of it? I offended her. I shouldn't have acted like that... — he muttered embarrassedly.
— Wait... did I just actually get embarrassed? — the first clone looked at the second in horror.
— Yep, — the latter sighed heavily.
— Embarrassed?! I don't believe it! — the first clone slumped back in his chair in shock. — When I was experimenting with clones and summoned my most narcissistic part, I watched that bastard masturbate to me for seven minutes and I wasn't even uncomfortable! I was cheering him on! And here—because of a girl—I'm blushing like a little boy?!
— That's the point. I've become too soft and sensitive, — the second clone confirmed. — And the worst part is, I'm trying not to notice it.
— What are you two talking about?! I'm perfectly fine! I'm still the same Victor, hey! — Victor threw up his hands, trying to act cheerful, but his voice betrayed him with a tremor.
— No.
— Not convincing at all.
Both clones shook their heads in unison.
— So, we need to decide what to do, — the first one summarized.
— We'll pretend everything is normal. Act as usual until we figure out the cause of this sudden emotionality. Then we'll decide, — the second suggested.
— "Pretend"... Everything is normal with me! — Victor grumbled, but no one was listening to him anymore.
The second clone hopped off the desk.
— First things first, you need to sleep. I'm sure when you wake up, you'll finally admit you're broken.
The first clone gave a short nod, looking at the original seriously. Without saying another word, both doubles popped simultaneously, dissolving into the air.
Left alone, Victor looked at Fawkes. The phoenix didn't even make a sound, merely observing him with wise eyes.
— I just got lectured by my own clones... — Victor massaged his temples. — "Sleep"? When was the last time I actually slept?
He tried to remember. It seemed to have been after the kiss with Daphne. How many days had passed? Two? Five? A week? He turned his gaze to the door leading to Dumbledore's private quarters. Standing up, he slowly trudged toward it. He really did need to lose himself for at least a few hours.
No sooner had the heavy door to the Headmaster's bedroom closed than the portraits on the walls came to life. The silence that had reigned in the office exploded with muffled whispers and indignant outcries.
— In the name of Merlin, what was that just now?! — exclaimed one of the former Headmasters, straightening a slipped robe. His shock was justified: from the outside, Victor's behavior appeared beyond all madness.
The boy had been sitting at Dumbledore's desk in total solitude, yet he had acted as if the room were packed with people. He had argued, laughed, answered the void, and even made excuses to invisible interlocutors. In reality, there were no clones in the office. When that first double who accompanied Adele in the dungeons had completed his task, he had simply dissipated. The entire subsequent dialogue, all those arguments about the Sharingan—all of it had taken place exclusively within Victor's fevered mind.
— A mad child... — rasped another Headmaster, whose portrait hung in the deepest shadow. — Dumbledore made a fatal mistake accepting him into Hogwarts. The boy is utterly diseased. He is a danger to those around him.
— Oh, stop your grumbling! Let us live in peace at least within our frames! — came the cranky voice of an old Headmaster from the adjacent wall. — Whether he should have been taken in or not is no longer our business. When Albus returns, we will tell him everything in detail. Let him decide what to do with his genius.
The portraits fell silent, watching the door behind which Victor had disappeared, but an oppressive sense of anxiety still hung in the air.