The day continues with the next lesson: Potions. The students enter into the dimly lit dungeon, the flickering torchlight casting eerie shadows along the damp stone walls. Professor Snape stands at the front, his presence as imposing as ever, his expression carved into a mask of stern disapproval. His black robes billow slightly as he turns to face the class, silencing their murmurs with just a glance.

“Today,” Snape begins, his voice sharp and laced with disdain, “we will be brewing the Shrinking Solution. A complex potion that, when brewed correctly, is a bright green and has practical applications, such as reducing livestock for easy transportation. When brewed incorrectly…” He pauses, letting the weight of his words hang in the air. His dark eyes settle on Neville Longbottom, who shrinks under the scrutiny. “…it can be lethal. So, do try not to poison yourselves—or your classmates.”

The class collectively stiffens, and a few students glance nervously at their cauldrons. The sound of chopping, grinding, and bubbling soon fills the room as everyone sets to work. Adam, seated near the middle of the classroom, moves with quiet confidence. His precise movements and methodical approach reflect years of practice, and he measures each ingredient with unwavering focus. Steam rises from the cauldron as the mixture begins to turn a vivid green, a sign that he’s on the right track.

Snape prowls the aisles, his critical gaze scanning each student’s progress. He halts by Adam’s workstation, his pale fingers clasped behind his back. Peering into the cauldron, his dark eyes narrow as he examines the perfectly brewed potion. The green hue shimmers faintly under the torchlight, its clarity unmistakable.

“Five points to Gryffindor,” Snape announces begrudgingly, his voice lacking any warmth. He straightens and adds, with a faint sneer, “Though it’s a shame you weren’t sorted into Slytherin. You would have been much better placed.”

Adam meets Snape’s gaze but says nothing, his face a carefully controlled mask. He simply nods, the faintest flicker of something, perhaps—passing through his expression before he turns his attention back to his cauldron.

After class, Adam joins Harry, Ron, and Hermione in the Great Hall for lunch. The warm hum of chatter and the clinking of cutlery fills the air as the four settle at the Gryffindor table. As they eat, Adam notices Harry’s gaze locked on Malfoy, who lounges at the Slytherin table, basking in the attention of his housemates. A few sympathetic Slytherins lean in, murmuring words of comfort after his earlier encounter with Buckbeak.

“Unbelievable,” Ron mutters, stabbing a fork into his mashed potatoes as he glares across the hall. “You’d think he was on his deathbed, the way he’s carrying on. Look at him—smirking like he just won the House Cup.”

Adam opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, Seamus barrels into the hall, nearly tripping over a bench in his haste. Waving a crumpled copy of the Daily Prophet above his head, he shouts, “Sirius Black sighted near a village close to Hogwarts!” His voice rings out, instantly silencing nearby conversations as heads turn toward him.

The buzz of excitement spreads quickly, and Adam leans in to glance at the headline as Seamus slams the paper onto the table. The bold black letters confirm his words, accompanied by a grainy moving image of a gaunt, hollow-eyed Sirius Black. Adam says nothing, his expression unreadable, but his eyes flick toward Harry. Across the table, Harry’s grip on his fork tightens, his knuckles whitening as his mood visibly darkens.

Ron, ever quick to notice his friend’s shifts in demeanor, nudges Harry lightly. “Don’t let it get to you, mate,” he says, attempting a reassuring tone. “The Dementors will get him before he gets anywhere near here. They’re patrolling everywhere, aren’t they?”

Harry doesn’t respond. His eyes remain fixed on his plate as he pushes the food around with his fork, his appetite clearly gone. Hermione glances at him, concern etched on her face, but she wisely says nothing.

After lunch, the students head to their next lesson: Astronomy. The majority of the class trudges to the tower with little enthusiasm, muttering complaints about the monotony of star charts and endless constellations. Adam, however, is fully engrossed from the moment the lesson begins. As the professor discusses celestial phenomena, the myths behind constellations, and unexplained occurrences in the vast expanse of space, Adam listens intently, scribbling meticulous notes in his parchment. The vastness of the cosmos fascinates him, the idea of mysteries that no spell can yet explain holding a peculiar allure.

When the class finally ends, a wave of relief sweeps over most of the students, many eager to escape the dullness of academic lectures. Hermione lingers behind to discuss a question with the professor, while Adam packs his things with deliberate care.

“Library for me,” Adam announces as he waves goodbye to Harry and Ron at the base of the tower’s winding staircase. Ron pulls a face at the suggestion, already heading in the opposite direction. “You’ve fun with that,” he quips. “We’ll be somewhere far from anything that smells like books.”

Harry offers a faint smile but doesn’t follow either of them, opting instead for some quiet time alone. Hermione makes her way towards her next elective class. Adam watches them go, then turns toward the library, his thoughts already preoccupied with the pages he plans to lose himself in.

The atmosphere in the castle has shifted dramatically since the Dementors’ arrival who are searching for Sirius Black. Their presence, cold and menacing, casts a shadow over the once-lively corridors. Adam notices that most students now stick together in groups, huddled for a sense of safety, rarely venturing outside unless absolutely necessary. Even the library, typically a haven of solitude, is noticeably different. Quiet clusters of students gather around tables, their whispered conversations breaking the usual silence.

Adam approaches Madam Irma Pince at her desk, her sharp eyes scanning the room like a hawk on watch. She looks up as he stops in front of her, her expression stern but expectant. “Madam Pince,” Adam begins politely, “do you have any books on Hogwarts’ history or magical architecture?”

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Her eyebrow arches slightly, a hint of curiosity breaking her usual rigid demeanor. “There is one…” she says slowly, her voice clipped, “but it’s in the Restricted Section.”

Adam nods, already expecting the response. “That’s fine. I don’t have a written permission slip,” he admits, his tone resigned. He begins to turn away, assuming the conversation is over.

To his surprise, Madam Pince stands abruptly, smoothing her robes as she does so. “Who says I can’t provide permission myself?” she remarks, her voice softer than usual. A rare smile, faint but genuine, tugs at the corners of her thin lips. She gestures for Adam to follow her, and he blinks, momentarily stunned, before hurrying after her.

They weave through the towering shelves, the air growing cooler and more still as they enter the Restricted Section. The ancient books here seem to hum faintly with magic, their spines worn and their pages steeped in untold secrets. Madam Pince stops at a particular shelf, reaching up to retrieve an old, leather-bound tome. Its cover is cracked with age, the faint outline of a gilded crest barely visible.

She hands it to Adam, who cradles it carefully in his hands, as though it might disintegrate under too much pressure. “Thank you,” he says, his voice laced with gratitude but also confusion. “But why?”

Madam Pince folds her hands in front of her, her gaze steady. “You’re one of the top students in your year,” she says simply. “And I’ve noticed you’re serious about your studies. Besides,” she adds with a knowing look, “I trust you’ll handle it responsibly.”

Adam swallows, the weight of her words and the privilege of her trust settling over him. “I will,” he promises, his voice firm.

With a respectful nod, Madam Pince returns to her desk, leaving Adam to find a quiet corner. He selects a spot by a tall, arched window, where the pale winter light spills over the aged pages of the book. As he opens it, the faint scent of parchment and ink drifts up, mingling with the muffled murmurs of the other students.

As Adam reads, the book unveils detailed accounts of Hogwarts’ founding, painting vivid portraits of the four legendary founders: Godric Gryffindor, with his fiery courage and daring vision; Helga Hufflepuff, whose unwavering kindness shaped the castle’s inclusive spirit; Rowena Ravenclaw, the intellectual force behind its architectural brilliance; and Salazar Slytherin, whose cunning ingenuity left both a legacy and a shadow. Each founder had contributed their unique knowledge and magic, weaving their personalities into the very fabric of Hogwarts.

Finally Adam’s attention drawn to the Room of Requirement. Described as a marvel of magical engineering, it was unlike anything else in the wizarding world. According to the text, its creation required not only extraordinary magical skill but also an unprecedented collaboration between the founders. The process itself was a testament to their combined genius, involving:

* Space Magic: To alter and manipulate physical dimensions, creating a room that could expand, contract, or transform to suit the seeker’s needs.

* Void Stone: A rare and costly material, prized for its unparalleled spatial properties. Its use was said to anchor the room’s ever-changing nature.

* Ancient Charm Magic: A mastery of runes and enchantments, demanding profound knowledge of magic’s earliest roots.

* Three Forbidden Spells: Among the nine spells created by Merlin in his later years, shrouded in secrecy and wielding unimaginable power.

Adam leans back in his chair, his mind racing as he absorbs the information. His proficiency in space magic gives him a faint sense of confidence, though he knows mastery is still far away. Void stone, at least, won’t be an issue—he recalls the shimmering piles of it stored in his family vault, a fortune most wizards could only dream of. Ancient charm magic, however, feels like a steeper climb, requiring another year or two of dedicated study at best. But the forbidden spells...

The mention of Merlin’s nine forbidden spells is new to him. He’s never heard of them before, not even in his family’s extensive magical library. If they truly exist, the question remains: who could teach them to a thirteen-year-old? His thoughts drift to Dumbledore, a wizard whose knowledge and experience are unmatched. Or perhaps his grandparents might hold some insight, though seeking their help would require careful planning. The idea of approaching either feels daunting, but Adam knows he has little choice if he wants to uncover the truth.

“Well,” Adam mutters to himself, closing the book with a soft thud, “one step at a time.”

He carries the book back to Madam Pince, cradling it with the same reverence he had when she handed it to him. “Thank you, Madam Pince,” he says sincerely, placing it gently on her desk. She acknowledges him with a curt nod, though her eyes soften ever so slightly.

Adam considers his plans for the afternoon as he descends the grand staircase. A visit to Argos near the Great Lake feels like the perfect way to clear his mind after the intense study session. Also the bunch of mischievous yet endearing Grindylows has become something of a companion during the last year, and Adam knows that maintaining such a bond requires consistency. Still, his thoughts wander to Aragog’s Acromantula colony deep in the Forbidden Forest. It has been many 2 months since his last visit, and he knows that strengthening his connection with the colony is crucial. Acromantulas value loyalty and persistence, and Adam has no intention of letting his budding relationship with them weaken.

For now, he decides to start with Argos. Fresh fish will be essential, as Argos has grown used to his offerings and might even sulk if Adam arrives empty-handed. With that in mind, Adam redirects his steps toward the kitchen. The lively chatter of house-elves greets him as he pushes open the concealed door. The aroma of freshly baked bread and roasting meat wafts through the air, and Adam can’t help but smile at the scene.

“Mip!” Adam calls out, spotting the familiar house-elf bustling about with a large tray of pumpkin pies.

The small elf perks up immediately, her large eyes widening with delight. “Master Adam! What can Mip do for you today?” she asks, setting the tray down and hurrying over.

“I need the bucket early today,” Adam explains.

Mip claps her hands enthusiastically. "Mip has already finished the preparations early this morning." Just a moment, sir!” She scurries off, weaving expertly through the chaos of the kitchen, and returns moments later with a small wooden bucket filled with fresh, glistening fish. “Here you go, Master Adam! Nice and fresh, just as Argos likes!”

“Thank you, Mip,” Adam says warmly, taking the bucket and nodding in appreciation. The elf beams, clearly pleased to have helped.

With the bucket in hand, Adam makes his way out of the castle and into the crisp afternoon air. The grounds are quiet, with only the occasional group of students strolling along the paths. The Great Lake shimmers in the distance, the sunlight dancing across its surface. As he approaches the lake’s edge, the gentle lapping of the water against the shore greets him, along with the promise of a peaceful encounter with Argos and bunch of Grindylows.