After lunch, the trio makes their way to Charms class, the afternoon sunlight streaming through the tall windows of the castle corridors. Inside the classroom, Professor Flitwick stands atop his usual stack of books, beaming with enthusiasm as he introduces two new spells: the Skurge Charm, used to banish ectoplasm, and the Dancing Feet Spell, a jinx that causes its target to perform an uncontrollable jig.

As expected, Hermione masters both spells almost immediately. Her wand movements are precise, flawless. Flitwick claps his tiny hands in delight, his admiration earning Hermione a rare and genuine smile. Meanwhile, Adam takes his time, his wand gliding lazily as he works through the spells.

"You know," he says, casting Hermione a sly grin, "I think you’ve got enough perfection for both of us."

Hermione’s cheeks flush pink, though she tries to hide it by focusing on her parchment. "It’s not about perfection, Adam. It’s about practice."

"Sure," Adam teases, leaning back in his chair. "But you make the rest of us look like trolls in comparison in joking manner."

Even Ron can’t help but chuckle, though his own attempts at the Skurge Charm result in a loud BANG and a puff of green smoke because of his broken wand.

Next on the schedule is Defense Against the Dark Arts class with Professor Lockhart. Adam braces himself for what is about to happen and the chaos that will follow.

The class begins as expected, with Lockhart enthusiastically recounting yet another of his supposed heroic exploits. "Now, my dear students," he announces grandly, pulling a cloth off a small cage, "a practical demonstration! Behold, Cornish Pixies!"

The tiny, bright-blue creatures in the cage immediately start chattering in high-pitched squeaks, their beady eyes darting around the room. Lockhart grins confidently. "Harmless little fellows. Nothing to worry about!"

"Harmless?" Adam mutters under his breath, already gripping his wand as the cage door springs open at Lockhart’s touch.

Pandemonium erupts as the pixies zoom around the classroom, overturning desks, ripping pages from books, and gleefully pulling at students’ hair. Adam watches in disbelief as Lockhart stumbles back, clearly overwhelmed.

The pixies, however, behave oddly around Adam. They hover in front of him, chattering animatedly in their squeaky language before giving him polite nods and flying off to torment others. Adam raises an eyebrow, unsure whether to feel insulted or relieved.

Hermione springs into action, freezing several pixies mid-flight with a well-aimed Freezing Charm. Meanwhile, Adam calmly flicks his wand, levitating the squirming creatures one by one and gently placing them back into the cage.

By the time the chaos subsides, Adam surveys the wreckage: overturned desks, shattered glass, and a thoroughly embarrassed Lockhart. With a flick of his wand, Adam mutters a Mending Charm. The broken items repair themselves seamlessly, drawing gasps from the other students.

"That’s advanced magic!" Hermione exclaims, her wide eyes fixed on Adam. "How do you—?"

Adam shrugs, his expression modest. "Just something I picked up over the summer."

Lockhart, who has conveniently disappeared during the commotion, reenters the classroom just as the last pixie is secured. Puffing out his chest, he addresses the class with his signature self-assurance. "Well done, everyone! A very successful lesson, wouldn’t you agree?"

Adam, Harry, and Ron exchange incredulous looks. "Successful?" Harry whispers, shaking his head.

As they file out of the classroom, Hermione lags behind, defending Lockhart with a fervor that baffles the others. "He’s a great wizard!" she insists. "You just don’t understand his methods."

Adam chuckles, throwing a knowing glance at Harry and Ron. "If his method is running away and letting us handle it, then sure—he’s brilliant."

Even Hermione can’t suppress a small smile at that.

After the day’s classes, Adam finds himself drawn to the Hogwarts kitchens. The warm, bustling space is alive with the clatter of pots and pans and the hum of house-elves diligently preparing the next meal. With a polite smile he greets everyone and as always mip hands him a bucket of fresh fish. Thanking them always for their hospitality, he makes his way to the Black Lake, where the late afternoon sun casts shimmering patterns across the water’s surface.

Sitting by the lake’s edge, Adam tosses pieces of fish into the water, watching ripples spread outward until they blur the mirrored surface of the Black Lake. Moments later, Argos rises from the depths, its massive form gliding effortlessly toward the offering. The creature's tentacles, glistening in the late afternoon light.

Adam smiles, a familiar warmth spreading through him as Argos accepts the fish with quiet dignity. Spending time with the squid has become a ritual of sorts—one of the few constants in the whirlwind of life at Hogwarts like always. Argos never judges, never expects, and never interrupts, its presence offering a solace Adam struggles to find elsewhere.

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The serene moment is a welcome reprieve from the day’s chaos, the clamor of spells in the classroom and the relentless buzz of the castle’s corridors fading into the background. Here, by the lake’s edge, Adam lets his thoughts settle like the still water before him, reflecting and refracting the light of the world above. For now, he is just Adam—not a student, not a problem-solver, just himself, in quiet company with a creature as enigmatic as the lake it calls home.

Later, after dinner, Adam finds himself walking alongside Hermione as they head toward the Room of Requirement. Hermione has pestered him all through their meal, eager to learn the Mending Charm he demonstrated during Defense Against the Dark Arts. Relenting, Adam agrees, though he cautions her that it isn’t as simple as it looks.

The door to the Room of Requirement materializes as they approach, and inside, the space transforms into a cozy practice area complete with worn wooden desks, a pile of broken objects, and a glowing fireplace casting warm light over the room. Hermione wastes no time, pulling out her wand and setting to work.

"Reparo!" she says with determination, pointing her wand at a shattered vase. The pieces twitch but don’t come together.

"Not bad," Adam says, standing beside her. "But you’re forcing it. Magic flows better when you’re focused but relaxed. Like this." He demonstrates, his movements fluid as he murmurs the incantation. The vase instantly reassembles, as if it had never been broken.

Hermione sighs in frustration. "How do you make it look so easy?"

Adam grins, crossing his arms. "Practice, like you said. And maybe a bit of patience. You’ll get there, Hermione. You always do."

Hermione huffs, her cheeks pink, but her determination doesn’t waver. She tries again and again, her frustration slowly giving way to focus. Adam offers tips here and there, but mostly, he lets her work it out herself, knowing she thrives on challenge.

As the evening wears on, Adam returns to his dormitory, the castle quiet except for the faint whispers of enchanted portraits and the occasional creak of the ancient stone walls.

His thoughts turn to the Basilisk. Deep beneath the castle, the creature is stirring, its presence a looming shadow over everything. Adam has spent months formulating his plan, a delicate sequence of actions that, if executed perfectly, could save the creature from its cursed fate—and prevent the devastation it might cause if left unchecked.

For now, though, all he can do is wait. Wait, prepare, and hope that when the moment comes, he will be ready for the chaos ahead.

A few days pass, and Adam continues his routine—attending classes, spending quiet evenings by the Black Lake with Argos, and navigating the daily chaos of life at Hogwarts. It’s a welcome rhythm, offering him moments of peace amidst the challenges of the term. But, as with all things at Hogwarts, peace is fleeting.

One crisp afternoon, Adam sits on the sidelines with Ron and Hermione, watching the Gryffindor Quidditch team prepare for their practice match. Oliver Wood rallies his players, his voice carrying over the chatter as Harry and the others mount their brooms.

Suddenly, an unwelcome interruption cuts through the scene.

“Not so fast, Wood,” a drawling voice calls.

Everyone turns to see Marcus Flint, the Slytherin Quidditch captain, sauntering onto the pitch, flanked by his team. At their center stands Draco Malfoy, looking smug as ever, a sleek, polished broomstick slung casually over his shoulder.

“What do you want, Flint?” Oliver demands, already bristling with irritation.

“We’re taking the pitch today,” Flint says with a smirk. “Professor Snape gave us permission. We’ve got a new Seeker to train, after all.”

The Gryffindor team exchange bewildered glances.

Malfoy steps forward, holding up the broom for everyone to see. “Oh, and in case you haven’t noticed,” he sneers, “Father’s been generous enough to provide the entire Slytherin team with Nimbus 2001s.”

The Slytherins hoist their matching brooms into the air, their smug grins widening as the Gryffindors stare in disbelief.

“Bought your way onto the team, then, Malfoy?” George snaps, his voice dripping with disdain.

Adam sits up, already sensing the tension brewing as Hermione stands, her arms crossed. “Even if you have the fastest brooms, you lot still won’t beat Gryffindor,” she says sharply.

Malfoy’s smirk vanishes, replaced by a cold glare. He turns to Hermione, his voice dripping with malice. “You shut up, Mudblood.”

The air seems to freeze. Adam feels a chill run down his spine as the insult lands. Ron leaps to his feet, his face turning red with fury.

“You’ll pay for that, Malfoy!” Ron growls, whipping out his wand.

Adam’s eyes widen as he sees Ron preparing to cast. “Wait!” Adam says, grabbing his arm just in time. “Your wand—remember? It’s still broken. It’ll backfire.”

Ron hesitates, his grip on his wand faltering.

“I’ve got this,” Adam mutters, pulling out his own wand. He aims it at Malfoy and murmurs, “Rictusempra.”

The spell hits Malfoy squarely in the chest. His expression of smug triumph dissolves into confusion before he bursts into uncontrollable laughter.

“Stop—haha—get it—hahaha—off!” Malfoy gasps, clutching his stomach as he doubles over, unable to control the fits of laughter. The Slytherin team stares in shock, unsure of how to react.

The Gryffindors roar with laughter, and even Hermione can’t suppress a small smile.

After what feels like an eternity of Malfoy writhing on the ground, Flint finally snaps out of it. “Come on,” he growls, motioning for the team to help. “We’re taking him to the hospital wing!”

The Slytherins drag Malfoy off the pitch, his laughter echoing faintly as they disappear into the distance.

As the commotion settles, Harry turns to Hermione, looking puzzled. “What does ‘Mudblood’ mean?”

Hermione hesitates, her expression darkening, but Adam steps in.

“It’s a really foul term, Harry,” Adam explains, his voice serious. “It’s what some wizards call Muggle-borns—witches and wizards with non-magical parents. People like Malfoy think it’s an insult, like being Muggle-born makes you less of a wizard. But it’s rubbish. It just shows how small-minded they are.”

Harry’s face hardens, his grip tightening on his broom. “That’s disgusting,” he mutters.

“Exactly,” Adam says firmly. “And don’t worry, Hermione. People like him don’t define you—or anyone else.”

Hermione nods, her smile faint but grateful. Ron, still fuming, mutters, “Next time, I’ll make sure my wand works and that will be last day Malfoy will talk like that.”

The Gryffindors burst into laughter again, their spirits lifting despite the confrontation. With Malfoy gone, Oliver rallies the team back into action, determined to make the most of their time on the pitch. Adam leans back with a satisfied smile, watching as the Gryffindor players soar into the sky, leaving the tension behind.

At the end of the day, after petting Seraphina and feeding her, Adam reflects that it won’t be long before Harry starts hearing the Basilisk’s voice through the school walls, primarily in the pipes. He knows that Ginny will soon fall under the Dark Lord’s control after reading Tom Riddle’s diary, leading to the opening of the Chamber of Secrets.