Harry took a seat beside Hermione, who was already flipping through her potions textbook, her brow furrowed in concentration. He found her company pleasant, though he didn’t have much experience with friends to compare it to. Back in primary school, Dudley’s influence had made sure no one wanted to be friends with him. Dudley and his gang had bad-mouthed Harry at every opportunity, and the other kids were too scared of them to risk associating with him. Harry had spent most of his free time hiding, using his abilities to stay out of sight. The library had been his refuge, a place where he could lose himself in books and avoid the constant bullying.
As the students settled in, Harry’s "Clairvoyance" pinged, alerting him to a fast-moving presence approaching the classroom. He focused on the sensation and immediately recognized it as Professor Snape, the greasy-haired, hook-nosed potions master. Moments later, the door burst open, and Snape swept into the room, his black robes billowing dramatically behind him. He moved with a predatory grace, his dark eyes scanning the room like a hawk searching for prey.
“There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class,” Snape began, his voice low and silky but carrying an edge of menace. “As such, I don’t expect many of you to appreciate the subtle science and exact art that is potion-making. However, for those select few who possess the predisposition…” His gaze lingered on the Slytherin side of the room before snapping back to the Gryffindors. “I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death.”
The room was silent, the students hanging on his every word. Then Snape’s eyes locked onto Harry, and a cold smile twisted his lips. “Ah, Potter—our new "celebrity",” he said, his tone dripping with disdain.
Harry cringed inwardly as every head in the room turned to look at him. He could feel the weight of their stares, the mix of curiosity and judgment. He decided right then and there that he did not like Professor Snape.
“Potter,” Snape said, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife. “Tell me, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”
Harry didn’t hesitate. “A sleeping potion so powerful it’s known as the Draught of Living Death,” he answered, his voice calm and clear.
Snape’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he pressed on. “Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?”
“In the stomach of a goat,” Harry replied without missing a beat.
“And what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?”
“They’re the same plant, also known as aconite,” Harry said, his tone steady.
Snape’s lips thinned, and for a moment, he looked as though he wanted to argue. But Harry had answered every question correctly, leaving no room for criticism. Snape’s gaze shifted to Hermione, who had her hand raised eagerly throughout the entire exchange. “Lower your hand, Miss Granger,” he snapped, his tone sharp. “It seems Mr. Potter is more than capable of answering on his own.”
Hermione’s face fell, but she lowered her hand. Snape, clearly irritated, turned his attention to the rest of the class. “Why aren’t you writing this down?” he barked, his voice rising. “These are basic facts that every student should know!”
The students scrambled to pull out their quills and parchment, scribbling furiously as Snape continued his lecture. Harry kept his expression neutral, though he couldn’t help feeling a small sense of satisfaction.
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When the class finally ended, Ron clapped Harry on the back as they packed up their things. “Brilliant, mate!” he said, grinning. “You shut Snape right up.”
Harry shrugged, though he couldn’t suppress a small smile. “Just luck, I guess.”
Ron snorted. “Luck? You answered every question perfectly. That’s not luck—that’s skill.” He paused, then added, “Fancy a game of chess? I’ve got a new set.”
Harry shook his head. “Sorry, but I don’t like chess and I have something to do, maybe later.”
Later in the evening, Harry walked into the library, his footsteps soft against the stone floor. The towering shelves loomed around him, their shadows stretching in the dim light. He glanced around and spotted Hermione sitting at a table near the back, surrounded by a sea of books and parchment. Her quill moved rapidly across the page, her brow furrowed in concentration. Harry quietly approached and took a seat at the corner of the table, careful not to disturb her.
"Homework?" he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.
Hermione looked up briefly, her eyes flicking to him before returning to her parchment. "Hmm," she murmured, nodding. "Potions. Professor Snape assigned an essay on the properties of moonstone and its uses in potion-making. It’s due next week, but I thought I’d get a head start."
Harry nodded, though his mind was already drifting. He glanced at the stack of books beside her, their titles a mix of potions theory and advanced magical texts. Hermione’s dedication was impressive, but Harry had other things on his mind.
He leaned back in his chair, his thoughts turning to his abilities. The yet-to-form ability—the one he had intentionally stopped during the Sorting Ceremony—was still a faint nudge in the back of his mind. And then there was "Look at Me, I See You", the ability he had used earlier. While it was incredibly useful, it had a major drawback: the overwhelming surge of information when used in crowded places. Being the center of attention meant that every glance, every thought directed at him, flooded his mind with data. It was like trying to drink from a firehose.
"If only I could catalog all that information as it comes in," Harry thought. The idea sparked something in him, a sudden clarity. The ability he had stopped forming—the one related to shielding his mind—what if he could expand its function? What if it could not only protect his thoughts but also organize the information he received? And he wasn’t even sure how he would get a permission slip.
The pieces fell into place. A mental library, where every piece of information was cataloged and stored, just like the books around him, with a shield or false layer to stop or trick intruders and a deeper archive to hold his true thoughts.
"Did something good happen?" Hermione’s voice broke through his thoughts.
Harry blinked, realizing he had let his excitement slip past his "Emotional Mask." Hermione looked at him curiously, her quill paused mid-sentence.
"I just remembered something funny from my childhood," Harry said quickly, forcing a small smile. It wasn’t exactly a lie—he was happy, even excited—but he couldn’t explain why without revealing his secrets.
Hermione gave him a skeptical look but didn’t press further. She returned to her essay, leaving Harry to his thoughts.
He closed his eyes, focusing on the faint nudge in his mind. He imagined his mind as a library, with shelves stretching endlessly in every direction. Each book represented a memory, a piece of information, neatly cataloged and organized. The surface layer would be a false mind, a decoy to trick anyone who tried to intrude. Deeper layers would hold his true thoughts, protected and hidden.
As if responding to his thoughts, a bell chimed in his mind. A new ability had formed.
New Ability Unlocked: Matryoshka Mind of Babel
Description: A layered mind with an infinite library that stores memory at the core.
Harry’s breath caught. The ability was simple on the surface, but its implications were staggering. It was both passive and active—passive in that it automatically stored any information his senses gathered, and active in that he could arrange which layer held which memory. His mind had become like a nested doll, with infinite layers hiding his core self. He could even specify the number of layers between his surface mind and his deepest memories.
The possibilities were endless. He could use "Look at Me, I See You" in crowded places without being overwhelmed, as the information would be instantly cataloged in his mental library, at least he hoped so. He could access any memory, any piece of knowledge, with perfect clarity. It was like having a photographic memory, but infinitely better.
Harry’s fingers twitched with excitement. He wanted to test it immediately—to walk into the most crowded part of the library and use "Look at Me, I See You" to see how his new ability handled the flood of information. But he forced himself to stay seated, to keep his expression calm. He couldn’t afford to draw attention, not now.
Instead, he opened his eyes and glanced at Hermione, who was still engrossed in her essay. For the first time in a long time, Harry felt a sense of control. His mind was no longer a vulnerable target; it was a fortress, a library, a labyrinth. And he was its master.
He leaned back in his chair, a small smile playing on his lips. The future was full of possibilities, and Harry was ready to explore them—one layer at a time.
red Onion."
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