Finally, the train pulls into Hogsmeade Station. Adam steps off with Hermione, the cool evening air brushing against his skin. The sound of students chattering, the braying of restless owls, and the hooves of creatures pulling carriages fill the air. As they move toward the carriages, Adam notices the Thestrals pulling them. Their skeletal forms, with leathery wings and glowing white eyes, stand out starkly against the darkening sky.

He paused by one of them, his hand reaching out with quiet determination. His fingers brush against its cold, smooth side, and the Thestral shifts slightly under his touch, its movements graceful yet eerie. A pang of sorrow flickers through him—he had seen death, knows its weight—but alongside it comes a deep sense of respect for these creatures. Many wizards believe Thestrals are bad omens or bring bad luck to those who see them, likely because of their association with death and their frightening appearance.

“Adam, are you coming?” Hermione calls, already seated in a nearby carriage.

He nods, giving the Thestral a final pat before climbing in beside her. The ride to Hogwarts is filled with a comfortable silence, the castle’s towering spires glowing against the night sky as they come into view.

Entering the Great Hall again feels like stepping into a world of magic anew. The enchanted ceiling shimmers with stars, the four house tables buzz with excited chatter, and the warm glow of floating candles fills the room. Adam greets his classmates as they pass, exchanging updates about their summer adventures and catching snippets of animated conversations.

Even the ghosts are in high spirits—Nearly Headless Nick floats by, regaling a group with the story of his botched execution. Adam chuckles as he offers the ghost a polite greeting, earning a cheerful wave in return.

As he settles into his seat at the Gryffindor table, the Sorting Hat ceremony begins. The students sing their annual song, a whimsical yet thought-provoking tune about unity and the importance of working together despite differences. Adam claps politely as the Sorting commences, the nervous first-years stepping forward one by one.

The ceremony brings a wave of nostalgia, reminding Adam of his own Sorting the year before. The Gryffindor table erupts into cheers with each new addition, their house pride on full display. As the last first-year is sorted and Professor Dumbledore rises to give his opening speech, Adam leans back, a content smile on his face.

True to form, Harry and Ron burst into the Great Hall just as dessert appears on the golden plates. Their disheveled hair, flushed faces, and frantic expressions immediately draw attention. Whispers sweep through the room, students craning their necks to catch a glimpse of the pair. As they hurry to their seats, they quickly explain their escapade in the flying car, earning a mix of admiration and scolding from their peers.

“That is the most brilliant thing I’ve ever heard!” Seamus exclaims, practically bouncing in his seat.

“It’s completely irresponsible!” Hermione counters, hands on her hips as she fixes Harry and Ron with a stern glare. “You could have been seen! Do you even realize the kind of trouble you’re in?”

Ron groans, his face pale. “I know! Mum’s going to send a Howler, I just know it.”

Harry nods, looking equally uneasy, though he tries to maintain a brave front. “We didn’t mean to—we couldn’t get through the barrier. It was the only way we could make it!”

Adam, who has been listening quietly, finally speaks up. His voice is calm, cutting through the noise. “You’re here now, and you’re safe. That’s what matters. Let’s focus on what’s ahead rather than what’s already done.”

Harry and Ron exchange glances before nodding, their tension easing slightly. Hermione huffs but seems to accept Adam’s reasoning. “Fine,” she relents, though her disapproval lingers in her expression. “But next time, use your heads!”

After dinner, Adam makes his way to the Gryffindor Tower, the warmth of the common room greeting him as he climbs through the portrait hole. The room buzzes with chatter about the new school year and, of course, Harry and Ron’s grand entrance. Adam offers polite nods and smiles as he passes his housemates but keeps moving toward the boys' dormitory, eager to unwind.

Inside the familiar dormitory, Seraphina greets him with a delighted hoot. The screech owl flaps her wings and lands gracefully on his bedpost, her golden eyes glinting in the dim light. Adam chuckles as Mip, one of the castle’s house-elves, appears with a pop, holding a small bowl of owl treats.

“Master Adam, welcome back! Mip is happy to see you,” the house-elf said with a low bow before offering the treats to Adam.

“Thanks, Mip,” Adam replied warmly, taking a morsel and holding it out to Seraphina. The snowy owl let out a soft hoot of approval as she delicately accepted the treat from his hand.

“Thanks, Mip,” Adam replies with a smile. “It’s good to be back.”

As the elf disappears with another pop, Adam sits on his bed, stroking Seraphina’s feathers as his thoughts wander. The Basilisk. The diary. The Chamber of Secrets. Each piece of the puzzle looms large in his mind, and he knows the road ahead will be fraught with challenges.

Still, Adam allows himself a moment of peace. He leans back against the pillows, watching as the moonlight filters through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the dormitory.

Adam wakes up early as usual, a habit ingrained in him since his first year at Hogwarts. The dormitory is bathed in a soft, golden glow as sunlight filters through the curtains, though his dormmates are still deep in slumber, their snores and murmurs the only sounds breaking the silence. Stretching lazily, Adam starts his morning routine: deep, measured breaths followed by a quick series of stretches that loosen his muscles and clear his mind. After splashing cold water on his face, he feels fully refreshed, ready to take on the day before most others even open their eyes.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

His gaze falls on the new timetable pinned neatly to his bedside table, and he studies it carefully. This year, the schedule seems more dynamic, with classes shuffled into an unpredictable rhythm that promises to keep them all on their toes. His eyes drift to a colorful notice tacked to the bulletin board across the room: a call for students to try out for their house Quidditch teams. The thought lingers in his mind. He imagines himself soaring on his broom, the wind rushing past, the crowd cheering—but quickly shakes his head. While he adores flying and the freedom it brings, the physicality of Quidditch feels daunting. "Maybe another year," he mutters under his breath, stuffing the idea into the back of his mind.

Dressed in his neatly pressed robes, his school bag slung over one shoulder, Adam tiptoes out of the dormitory, careful not to wake the others. The common room is silent, the embers in the fireplace faintly glowing from the night before. As he steps into the castle’s hallways, the ancient stones seem to hum softly in the morning stillness. The enchanted portraits are stirring too, some muttering greetings while others yawn and grumble about being woken too early. Nearly Headless Nick glides past, offering a cheery "Good morning, young Adam!" which Adam returns with a polite nod and a smile.

By the time he reaches the Great Hall, it’s still largely empty. The enchanted ceiling above mirrors the clear morning sky, and a faint aroma of freshly baked bread and warm porridge wafts through the air. Adam seats himself at the Gryffindor table, savoring the peace and quiet as he piles his plate with food.

The tranquility is soon interrupted by the arrival of Harry, Hermione, and Ron with other students. The trio looks less awake than Adam, their hair tousled and their eyes heavy with sleep. Harry flops down beside him, yawning loudly.

"How do you manage to be here first every day?" Harry asks, eyeing Adam’s neatly composed plate of food with mild envy.

Adam smirks, sipping his pumpkin juice. "Discipline, my friend. You should try it sometime."

Hermione laughs softly, clearly approving, while Ron groans, dropping into the seat across from Adam with all the enthusiasm of someone facing a ten-hour lecture on goblin rebellions. His broken wand, still held together with spellotape, pokes out of his bag, a sad reminder of its unreliability.

"You’ll manage," Adam says encouragingly, gesturing to the wand. "At least it works… occasionally."

Ron snorts, though his expression brightens a little. "Yeah, until it blows up in my face," he mutters, shoving a sausage into his mouth.

Harry grins. "Could be worse. It could turn you into a chicken or something. Imagine that!"

The group chuckles, the sleepiness in their eyes fading slightly as the warmth of shared humor takes over. Soon, the Hall fills with the lively buzz of students, but Adam and his friends are already gathering their things, heading off for their first class of the day: Potions. As they walk, the castle seems to come alive around them, its magic pulsing in the very walls. Adam can’t help but feel a quiet thrill. At Hogwarts, every day is an adventure waiting to unfold.

In the dimly lit Potions dungeon, the oppressive air was made heavier by the presence of Professor Snape, who was in rare form. His signature scowl deepened as he swept into the room, his black robes billowing like a storm cloud. Without preamble, he launched into the day’s lesson, his voice cold and sharp as he explained the intricacies of brewing a Fire Protection Potion. The class hung on his every word—not out of interest, but out of fear of being the next target of his withering glare.

Adam worked meticulously, his movements precise as he measured ingredients and stirred his potion clockwise, just as the instructions demanded. His attention, however, kept drifting to Harry, who was once again the focus of Snape's unrelenting scrutiny. Every time Harry so much as glanced at his textbook, Snape seemed to materialize behind him, his dark eyes narrowing.

"I think he’s watching me more than my cauldron," Harry muttered under his breath, his lips barely moving.

Adam bit back a laugh, focusing on his own potion, which was beginning to emit the faint, shimmering steam that signaled success. When the class finally ended, Snape loomed over Harry’s workstation, his lip curling as he inspected the potion.

"Barely passable," Snape sneered, his tone dripping with disdain. He swept away before Harry could respond, his robes snapping dramatically behind him.

"Honestly, I’m surprised he didn’t dump it over my head," Harry muttered as they packed up their supplies.

The shift to Herbology was a welcome relief. In the bright, earthy greenhouse, Professor Sprout introduced the students to Mandrakes, small, shrieking plants with surprisingly powerful restorative properties. After a firm warning about the dangers of their cries, the class donned their earmuffs and got to work. Adam found the Mandrakes oddly fascinating, though their writhing roots made them difficult to handle.

Neville, however, didn’t fare as well. The moment he unearthed his Mandrake, he turned pale, swayed, and fainted spectacularly, even with his earmuffs securely in place. Adam couldn’t suppress a chuckle at the sight, though he quickly helped Hermione and Ron prop Neville up against a nearby bench.

"Poor guy," Adam said, shaking his head. "They’re not that scary."

By the time they reached the Great Hall for lunch, the group was ravenous. The chatter of students filled the hall, and plates piled high with steaming food appeared before them as they took their seats at the Gryffindor table. Ron, however, was too busy fiddling with his broken wand to notice. His grumbles grew louder as the spellotape holding it together began to peel.

Just as Ron opened his mouth, a loud crash interrupted the conversation. Everyone turned to see Errol, the Weasley family’s aging owl, tumbling headfirst into the Gryffindor table. Amid the chaos of spilled goblets and scattered toast, the owl released its cargo—a Howler.

"Classic," Adam said, patting Ron’s shoulder as he tried not to laugh.

"Oh no," Ron groaned, burying his face in his hands.

The Howler unfurled itself and exploded into Mrs. Weasley’s unmistakable voice, filling the hall with her furious reprimands. She berated Ron for stealing the flying car and warned him, in no uncertain terms, to behave himself. The Howler ended with a sharp snap, leaving the hall in stunned silence for a moment before erupting into laughter.

Ron sank lower into his seat, his ears burning red. "This is officially the worst day ever," he grumbled.

Harry grinned, leaning over. "Cheer up, mate. At least she didn’t show up in person."

Adam joined in the laughter, though he couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for Ron. As much as he teased, there was no denying that life at Hogwarts was never dull—especially with friends like these.