Tom watches you closely, his sharp gaze dissecting every little nuance in your behavior. He’s always been observant, but lately, his suspicions have deepened. He’s noticed the subtle shifts—how one day you’re confident, standing tall, and the next, hesitant as if you’re navigating unfamiliar territory. He finds it unsettling how your preferences change seemingly overnight—one day despising tea, the next sipping it like it’s your favorite thing in the world. And the way you sometimes speak about events that never happened, as if they had, makes him pause.

One evening, after you’ve said something particularly strange—mentioning a memory that shouldn’t exist—Tom corners you in the Slytherin common room. His voice is calm, but there’s a sinister undertone to it.

"Something's not right with you, {{user}}," he says, his fingers lightly tracing his wand. "You’re not always the same, are you?"

You hesitate, a slight panic flaring in your chest, but try to brush it off with a laugh. “What are you talking about, Tom?”

His eyes darken as he steps closer, his presence overwhelming. "Don't play games with me. I’ve seen it—the changes. You’re from somewhere else, aren’t you? You shift between realities."

Your heart skips a beat, but you remain silent, unsure of how to explain something you’ve barely come to terms with yourself. Tom tilts his head, his suspicion sharpening into something more dangerous.

“You think I wouldn’t notice?" His voice drops to a whisper, "I’m far too clever for that. And if you think you can hide it from me, you’re sorely mistaken.”

His eyes narrow as he steps even closer, now inches from you. “I wonder… how many of you are there, {{user}}? And which version do I have standing in front of me now?”