Adam making his way to his first class, Charms. The corridors of Hogwarts hum with the usual morning chatter, a mix of hurried footsteps and muffled yawns. As he steps into the classroom, he finds Professor Filius Flitwick already perched on his familiar pile of books, his wand in hand and his expression as lively as ever. Despite his diminutive stature, Flitwick’s presence commands respect, his boundless energy setting a vibrant tone for the class.

“Good morning, everyone!” Flitwick chirps, his voice bright as he launches into a quick revision of the Cheering Charm. The room comes alive with activity as students pair off to practice, their laughter soon echoing off the walls. Waves of giggles erupt as the charm works its magic, leaving students grinning uncontrollably, some doubling over with laughter. Adam chuckles at the sight of Ron, whose uncontrollable fits of laughter make his wand hand wobble, causing a slight misfire that sends a quill flying across the room.

Once the classroom settles down, Flitwick introduces the new spell of the day: the Freezing Spell. With a deft flick of his wand, he demonstrates, sending a gust of icy air toward a glass of water on his desk. The water instantly crystallizes, shimmering under the classroom lights. “This charm,” he explains, turning to face the class, “has a variety of uses—from freezing water to extinguishing fires, and even immobilizing opponents in a duel.” His eyes twinkle as he emphasizes the potential utility of the spell.

The second class of the day is Potions with Professor Snape. Unlike the lively atmosphere of Charms, the Potions dungeon is cloaked in an oppressive silence, broken only by the occasional drip of condensation and the rustle of parchment. Snape wastes no time with pleasantries, his sharp voice slicing through the stillness as he dives straight into today’s topic: Confusing Concoction. His instructions are meticulous, his tone laced with the usual edge that keeps the students on high alert.

Halfway through the lesson, Snape’s piercing gaze sweeps the room and lands squarely on Harry. The air thickens as the professor addresses him, his drawl heavy with disdain. “Potter,” Snape begins, his tone a mixture of condescension and challenge, “what can you tell me about the Shrinking Solution we covered last class? Ingredients and process.”

The room falls silent, all eyes turning to Harry. For a moment, it seems like Snape might get his chance to pounce, but Harry, to everyone’s surprise, answers with unwavering confidence. “The Shrinking Solution requires daisy roots, skinned shrivelfigs, caterpillars, and a dash of leech juice,” Harry recites, his voice steady. “The roots must be finely chopped, and the mixture stirred counterclockwise after adding the juice.”

Snape’s expression darkens, his lips curling into a thin, displeased line. “Correct,” he mutters begrudgingly, clearly dissatisfied with the lack of error in Harry’s response.

Adam hides a smirk, amused by Snape’s thwarted attempt to humiliate Harry. He shifts his focus back to his own potion, his movements precise and confident. As the lesson progresses, Adam finishes his brew first, the soft, swirling purple of his Confusing Concoction glowing faintly in the dim light. Snape inspects it with a sour expression, his irritation barely concealed as he grudgingly awards Gryffindor a few points for Adam’s flawless execution. Adam chuckle inside, knowing he’s managed to earn the points despite Snape’s obvious bias.

During lunch, Harry leans toward Adam, his expression a mixture of relief and gratitude. “Thanks, Adam. If you hadn’t reminded me to review the Shrinking Solution jus before the class, I’d have been dead meat today.”

Adam waves off the thanks with a casual smile. “Don’t worry, Harry. I’ve got your back. Besides, Snape’s always looking for an excuse to pounce on you. Better to stay a step ahead of him.”

Harry chuckles softly, but the tension in his shoulders seems to ease.

The afternoon brings Defense Against the Dark Arts with Professor Lupin, a class that never fails to spark Adam’s interest. As the students file in, Adam recalls the previous morning when Lupin had asked him to meet before dinner. The memory is vivid, the professor’s calm yet curious demeanor etched in his mind.

“Why is it, Adam,” Lupin had asked, his tone gentle but probing, “that you’re unaffected by a Boggart? Most students reveal their fears unconsciously, but yours… It’s like the Boggart finds nothing to work with.”

Adam had met Lupin’s gaze, his expression calm and composed. “I suppose it’s my upbringing, Professor. My family’s influence has made me mentally strong, and I’ve faced challenges that have taught me control. Maybe I have fears, but they’re buried too deep for a Boggart to unearth.”

Lupin had studied him for a moment, his brow furrowed in thought. “An interesting theory,” he had said finally, though Adam could sense the lingering doubt in his voice. Lupin was perceptive, but Adam wasn’t ready to reveal more.

Back in the present, the lesson unfolds as students face the Boggart, their deepest fears materializing before them. Voldemort appears multiple times, his handsome features belying the ruthless killer within. Despite the tension, Adam can’t help but find it oddly amusing. Watching students transform the Dark Lord into absurd forms—a clown with a bright red nose, a ballerina in a frilly pink tutu—makes Adam chuckle quietly, though he’s careful to keep it discreet.

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The final class of the day is Flying, attended by a smaller, select group of students. Adam feels a surge of exhilaration as he mounts his broom, the crisp wind biting at his face as they take to the skies. Today’s exercises are more demanding than usual, with sharp dives and rapid turns that leave his heart pounding. The thrill of each maneuver is intoxicating, and by the time the lesson ends, his cheeks are flushed, and his muscles ache in the most satisfying way.

On his way back to the castle, Adam spots Mip, the castle’s cheery house-elf, bustling toward him with a bucket of fish in her tiny hands. “For Argos, sir,” she says brightly, her wide eyes shining as she hands over the offering.

Adam thanks her warmly and heads to the Black Lake. The serene waters ripple gently as he approaches, and moments later, the massive tentacles of Argos, emerge. With a strange grace, it takes the offering, its movements slow and deliberate. Adam watches for a while, feeling a rare sense of peace as the squid disappears beneath the surface.

As he makes his way back toward the castle, a familiar shadow sweeps across the sky. Thor, his majestic thunderbird, descends with effortless elegance, his feathers gleaming in the afternoon light. Adam reaches into his bag and pulls out a few dead ferrets, a snack he always keeps on hand for moments like these. Thor chirps happily, the sound a low, musical rumble that vibrates in the air. After a few bites, the thunderbird stretches his wings and takes off toward the Forbidden Forest, his powerful form cutting through the horizon.

Adam watches him disappear, a faint smile playing on his lips. Thor’s behavior reassures him—there’s been no sign of Dementors lately, and the weather has remained calm. For now, all seems well.

Back in castle, Adam finds it impossible to hide his excitement for the next day: the first Hogsmeade weekend of the year. From the third year onward, students are permitted to visit the charming wizarding village on designated weekends, and Adam intends to make every moment count. His family owns several prominent establishments in Hogsmeade, including a pair of pubs and specialty shops catering to wizarding supplies.

After a hearty dinner in the Great Hall, Adam makes his way back to the Gryffindor common room. The familiar warmth of the roaring fire and the hum of friendly chatter fill the space, but Adam heads straight up to check on Seraphina. She’s already fast asleep, on her perch comfortably. Smiling fondly, Adam gently pets her head before retreating to his bed., his thoughts already drifting to the bustling streets of Hogsmeade. It doesn’t take long for sleep to claim him.

The next morning, Adam wakes early, as he always does. The castle is still cloaked in the quiet of dawn as he makes his way to Dumbledore’s office, a small parcel of phoenix treats in hand. When he arrives, the room is empty save for Fawkes, who perches majestically on his gilded stand. Adam approaches with practiced ease, offering the treats while murmuring softly. Fawkes responds with a melodic trill, his sharp, intelligent eyes watching Adam intently.

The stillness is broken by the low murmur of voices from the portraits on the walls. Adam turns to see the founders’ portrait fully awake, their painted forms observing him with interest.

“Child of Morgan,” Godric Gryffindor speaks first, his deep voice resonating with authority yet tinged with warmth. “Do you always feed the phoenix?”

Adam nods, his tone respectful. “I love magical creatures. They’ve always fascinated me.” He speaks briefly about his home garden, the family sanctuaries, and even the Hogwarts ground, sharing stories of the creatures he cares for—Diricawls, Hippogriff, Thestrals Bowtruckles, and many more. However, he’s careful to avoid mentioning unicorns or the basilisk back in the sanctuary, knowing how sensitive that information could be.

Salazar Slytherin, his expression cool and calculating, tilts his head slightly before speaking. “Adam,” he begins, his voice smooth but edged with curiosity, “I spoke with Dumbledore yesterday. He mentioned something about the Dark Lord using a basilisk from Chamber of secrets i created… and someone saving the creature. Do you know anything about this?”

Adam feels his stomach clench, his mind racing. He curses Dumbledore silently but keeps his expression neutral, his tone measured. “No, Founder. I only know the basics of what Dumbledore and the school share.”

Slytherin’s piercing gaze lingers on Adam, as if trying to unravel the layers of truth hidden beneath his words. The air grows tense, but Adam meets the painted eyes steadily, refusing to betray any hint of unease. After what feels like an eternity, Slytherin nods slowly, his expression inscrutable. “Very well,” he says, leaning back in his frame, his interest seemingly satisfied for now.

Leaving Dumbledore’s office, Adam makes his way back to the Gryffindor common room. The room is quieter than usual, with most students either preparing for the day or still in bed. As he steps inside, he spots Harry sitting by the fire, his shoulders slumped and his expression downcast.

“What’s wrong?” Adam asks, walking over and taking a seat beside him.

Harry looks up, his eyes shadowed with frustration. “My aunt didn’t sign the permission slip for Hogsmeade,” he replies bitterly, the words dripping with resentment.

Adam frowns sympathetically. “That’s rough, Harry. Don’t worry, though—if you need anything from the village, just let me know. I’ll bring it back for you.”

Harry’s lips twitch into a faint smile. “Thanks, Adam. I appreciate it.”

After returning to his dormitory and dressing for the day, Adam heads down to the castle gates, where the usual buzz of excitement surrounds the students. Ron and Hermione are already waiting, Ron looking eager while Hermione adjusts her scarf against the chilly air. Professor McGonagall stands at the gates, her sharp eyes scanning permission slips as she ushers the students through.

As Adam approaches, he spots Harry lingering near the gate, his arms crossed as he leans against the stone archway. Adam catches his eye and offers a reassuring smile.

“Don’t need anything from the village?” Adam asks again, his tone light.

Harry shakes his head with a small smile. “Nothing for now, but thanks.”

With a nod, Adam turns back to join Ron and Hermione, who are already discussing their plans for the day. The three of them, along with the rest of the students, make their way down the path to Hogsmeade. Adam feels his spirits lift as the first rooftops of the village come into view, the promise of a day filled with butterbeer, laughter, and the realization of plans he had been envisioning for the village over the past two years.