Adam’s days at Hogwarts brim with a mix of excitement and unease. The recent opening of the Chamber of Secrets casts a shadow over the castle, leaving students jittery and wary. The days of carefree wanderings through the corridors are gone; now, groups of three or more are a common sight as everyone clings to the safety of numbers. Even the usual lively chatter in the hallways has dwindled to whispers, smothered by an atmosphere thick with fear.

Amid the tension, Adam tries to maintain his routine. Though he shares a strong bond with Harry, Ron, and Hermione, he often carves out moments for himself, seeking solace in the library’s quiet corners or the open expanse of the Hogwarts grounds. His fascination with magical creatures drives much of his time, and he dives into his studies with an almost obsessive fervor. Weekends, however, break this pattern. Accompanying Hagrid, Adam ventures into the Forbidden Forest to visit Aragog’s colony. Each trip deepens his understanding of the eerie yet captivating world hidden within the forest’s dense shadows.

On a particularly gray afternoon, Adam sits hunched over a massive tome on magical creatures in the library. The dim light filtering through the tall windows casts long shadows across the pages as he scribbles notes. The sudden scrape of a chair being pulled beside him startles him, and he glances up to see Hermione settling in next to him.

“Adam,” she begins, her tone a mix of concern and curiosity, “why are you always on your own? Especially now, with everything that’s been happening?”

Her question catches him off guard, and for a moment, he simply blinks at her. Closing his book with deliberate care, he leans back in his chair. “I don’t mind being alone,” he says after a pause, his voice calm but firm. “Honestly, it’s not like I have a long list of friends outside of you three. And between you and me,” he adds with a faint smirk, “sneaking into the Slytherin common room just because Malfoy might be the Heir and knows something feels like a gamble I’d rather not take.”

Hermione’s brows knit together in a frown, but she doesn’t argue. Her distrust of Malfoy is evident, yet even she can’t dismiss Adam’s logic. “Well,” she replies, her voice carrying a hint of determination, “the Polyjuice Potion will be ready by Christmas. Then we’ll see just how much of a long shot it is.”

Adam chuckles softly, shaking his head. “Good luck with that,” he says, reopening his book and letting his eyes drift back to the intricate illustrations of spider anatomy. Hermione lingers for a moment longer before standing and walking away, leaving Adam to his studies—and his solitude.

By mid-November, the rising number of attacks at Hogwarts stirs unease, prompting Professor Lockhart to announce the formation of a Duelling Club. The news sends a ripple of excitement through the student body, but Adam can’t help rolling his eyes. He knows Lockhart’s reputation all too well. Dumbledore has to be aware of what a fraud he is, Adam amuses. Maybe this is his way of letting everyone else figure it out.

The session takes place during their Defense Against the Dark Arts period. When the time arrives, a special room is prepared, transformed into a dramatic dueling arena with a raised platform at its center. The students' chatter grows louder as they gather around, craning their necks for a better view. Lockhart stands front and center, his beaming smile practically glowing under the enchanted torches.

“Welcome, welcome!” Lockhart exclaims, spreading his arms as though addressing a royal court. “The Duelling Club is here to teach you the fine art of self-defense and attack—should you ever need it, of course. But I daresay, with me here, you’re perfectly safe!”

Beside him, Professor Snape looms like a thundercloud, his scowl deepening with every word. The contrast between the two couldn’t be starker. When the time comes for a demonstration duel, it plays out exactly as Adam expects. Snape’s Expelliarmus sends Lockhart’s wand—and Lockhart himself—flying in a spectacular display of humiliation.

To Lockhart’s credit, he springs back to his feet with all the grace of a seasoned performer, brushing off his robes with exaggerated aplomb. “Just a little demonstration, my dear students!” he declares. “Now you see how a proper duel unfolds!”

Adam bites the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. The entire scene feels more like a stage production than a lesson in magical defense.

The students are then paired up to practice, though Adam remains more interested in observing than participating. His attention sharpens when Harry and Malfoy are chosen to demonstrate. The tension between them is electric, their wands raised like swords poised for battle. It isn’t long before the duel spirals out of control. When Malfoy conjures a snake with a flick of his wand, the room collectively gasps.

Adam’s eyes narrow as he watches the serpent slither menacingly toward students. The air feels charged, and then Harry speaks—a low, commanding hiss that sends the snake retreating. The effect is instantaneous and snake moves towards Justin Finch-Fletchley. A hushed silence falls over the hall, broken only by the faint whispering of students.

Standing with Hermione and Ron, Adam watches the scene unfold, his curiosity piqued. Parseltongue is a rare ability, one steeped in both power and prejudice. If I could learn even a few words, imagine the possibilities. Communicating with magical creatures of snake linage would be incredible. But the thought is quickly tempered by the reality—this skill is deeply tied to Salazar Slytherin’s legacy, and by extension, to dark magic.

Snape vanishes the snake with a wave of his wand, restoring order, but the tension lingers. As the trio leaves the hall, Hermione and Ron immediately turn to Harry, bombarding him with questions.

Harry, are you a Parselmouth?” Hermione asks, her voice tinged with worry. “That’s the language of serpents! It’s a very rare skill and is almost always hereditary. Salazar Slytherin, one of the founders of Hogwarts, could speak it too! People are going to think—” She falters, unable to finish the thought.

“That you’re the Heir of Slytherin,” Ron supplies grimly.

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Before Harry can respond, Adam steps in, his voice cutting through the unease. “Honestly, I think it’s amazing,” he says, his tone upbeat. “If I had that ability, I’d be thrilled. Think of all the magical creatures you could talk to!”

Hermione and Ron exchange a glance before breaking into laughter, their anxiety momentarily eased by Adam’s enthusiasm. Harry, however, doesn’t share their lightened mood. His gaze is distant, troubled, as though weighed down on him.

In the days following Harry’s dramatic Parseltongue revelation, whispers ripple through the castle like wildfire. Adam notices the subtle yet cutting changes in how the students treat Harry. Conversations die the moment he enters a room, and groups in the corridors part like waves to avoid him. The air brims with unease, and though Harry tries to brush it off, the weight of suspicion follows him everywhere.

One afternoon, Adam catches up with Harry in the study area. Harry sits alone, staring moodily into the distance, while Ron and Hermione bicker over homework nearby. The rest of the students keep their distance, avoiding eye contact with Harry. Sliding into the seat next to him, Adam offers a faint grin.

“I know how you feel,” Adam says lightly, hoping to lift the mood. “People avoid me all the time. Comes with the territory of being a bit… different.”

Ron chuckles, nudging Hermione. “Yeah, like when Adam tried to teach a Flobberworm to fetch.”

“It almost worked!” Adam protests, but the laughter fails to ease Harry’s troubled expression.

The four of them eventually settle into their usual corner, apart from the rest of the students. The hours slip by in companionable silence as they pore over their respective books. But as the clock ticks closer to curfew, Harry quietly shuts his and rises.

“I’ll see you back in the common room,” he murmurs before slipping away.

Adam watches him leave, unease prickling at the edges of his thoughts. He hesitates for a moment before following, knowing what’s to come—and feeling a certain curiosity to witness Fawkes’ rebirth.

He catches up to Harry near a long, narrow window where moonlight spills onto the stone floor. Harry stands frozen, staring out into the night. Adam follows his gaze and notices a peculiar sight—a trail of spiders scuttling in a neat line, disappearing through a crack in the wall and heading outside toward the Forbidden Forest.

Nearby, the eerie scene deepens. Nearly Headless Nick hovers in mid-air, petrified in a ghostly, frozen state, his transparent form unnervingly still. On the ground, Justin Finch-Fletchley lies stiff as a board, his eyes wide and unseeing.

Harry turns at the sound of Adam’s footsteps, his face pale and taut. “I heard it again,” he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “The voice. It led me here.”

Adam knows that the basilisk has struck again but chooses not to say anything. Instead, he tried to comfort Harry.

Before either of them can say more, the sharp sound of footsteps echoes down the corridor. Filch appears first, his eyes narrowing as he takes in the scene. His lips curl into a snarl, but before he can speak, Professor McGonagall arrives, her face grave.

“This is serious,” she says, her tone clipped as she surveys the damage. “You two need to come with me. Now. We’re going straight to Professor Dumbledore.”

Adam exchanges a glance with Harry and nods. There’s no point in arguing, and truthfully, he feels a flicker of anticipation. Finally, he thinks, I’ll get to see Dumbledore’s office and meet him.

The journey to Dumbledore’s office is tense. Professor McGonagall leads the way, her stride brisk and purposeful. They stop before the imposing stone gargoyle that guards the entrance.

“Sherbet Lemon,” McGonagall says crisply.

The gargoyle springs to life, stepping aside to reveal a spiral staircase. It begins to rotate, carrying them upward. Despite the grim circumstances, the prospect of meeting Dumbledore—and getting a glimpse of the legendary phoenix—sends a flicker of excitement through him.

As the spiral staircase carries them upward, he finds himself gripping the railing tightly, eager to finally set foot in Dumbledore’s office and experience the room he’s only ever heard described in reverent tones.

When the staircase halts, Adam and Harry see a door and enters it and they step into the circular room, their footsteps echoing faintly on the polished floor. Dumbledore is nowhere to be seen, leaving the two boys momentarily unsupervised. Adam’s gaze sweeps over the room, and his breath catches.

The office is a treasure trove of rare and unusual magical artifacts, each one radiating an aura of mystery. Some hum softly, vibrating with unseen energy, while others emit faint glows or spin in mesmerizing, intricate patterns. The walls are lined with portraits of past headmasters and headmistresses. Most of them appear to be dozing, their features relaxed, but a few stir, their painted eyes opening to follow the boys’ movements with quiet curiosity.

Adam pauses to greet each awake portrait, addressing several by name. “Professor Dippet. Headmaster Black. Headmistress Wyrley.” His tone is warm and respectful, a testament to his extensive reading and fascination with Hogwarts’ history.

“Quite a studious one, isn’t he?” remarks one portrait, nudging another, who nods in agreement.

Harry chuckles softly, but Adam pays little mind, too engrossed in soaking up every detail.

At the center of the room stands Dumbledore’s imposing claw-footed desk, strewn with parchment, quills, and books. Adam leans in slightly, his eyes scanning the spines of the tomes. Before he can take a closer look, his attention is drawn to a shelf where the Sorting Hat rests atop a wooden stand.

Harry approaches the hat, hesitating for a moment before asking. “Are you sure you didn’t put me in the wrong house?”

Adam remains silent, letting Harry have this moment. The Sorting Hat’s reply is too soft for him to catch in its entirety, but he observes Harry’s expression closely.

As Adam approaches Fawkes’ perch, he hears Harry’s footsteps behind him. The conversation with the Sorting Hat has ended, leaving Harry quiet but visibly contemplative and new determination. Together, they stand before the phoenix, both drawn to the magnificent creature resting on his perch.

Fawkes’ feathers shimmer faintly in the dim light, though the vibrant scarlet and gold are dulled, a telltale sign of his nearing the end of his cycle. Adam feels a deep respect welling within him for the phoenix, a creature of renewal and resilience.

“It’s amazing,” Harry murmurs, his voice filled with quiet awe.

Adam nods, reaching into his pocket. He pulls out a small treat—something he always keeps on hand for magical creatures—and offers it to Fawkes. The phoenix tilts his head, studying Adam with an unblinking, intelligent gaze before delicately accepting the offering.

“You always carry those around?” Harry asks, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

Adam shrugs. “You never know when you’ll need them. Magical creatures like Fawkes deserve a little kindness.”

Before Harry can respond, Fawkes lets out a low, mournful trill. His body trembles, and suddenly, he bursts into flames. Both boys step back instinctively, their eyes widening as the phoenix is engulfed in a fiery spectacle.

The flames dance brilliantly, casting the room in flickering light before subsiding into a pile of smoldering ashes. The perch now sits empty save for a faint wisp of smoke curling upward.

Harry blinks in astonishment. “What just happened?”

Adam, though equally awed, smiles faintly. “It’s his burning day. Phoenixes burn at the end of their life cycle, only to be reborn from the ashes. It’s incredible, isn’t it?”

Harry’s gaze shifts to the ashes, his awe turning to curiosity. “It will come back? Just like that?”

“Better than before,” Adam replies softly. His mind is already racing with thoughts. One day, when Dumbledore is gone, Fawkes will need someone as he doesn't want Fawkes to become a wild magical creature. I’ll make sure I’m ready.

The moment is interrupted by a familiar voice, calm yet commanding, from behind them.

“Harry? Adam?”