Morning breaks over Hogwarts, casting a soft golden glow through the high windows of the Great Hall. Adam stirs, stretching his limbs as he blinks away the remnants of sleep. By now, the professors must have scoured every corridor and hidden passage in the castle in search of Sirius Black. Yet, Adam is certain that Professor Lupin, in his quiet, unassuming way, would have done what he could to ensure Sirius remained out of reach.
As he pushes himself up, he glances around. Most students remain sprawled across conjured sleeping bags and cushions, their faces slack with exhaustion after the restless night spent in the Great Hall. The hushed murmurs of early risers and the occasional clatter of movement do little to disturb the heavy air of weariness. He suspects the professors will allow them to have breakfast here rather than send them back to their dormitories just yet.
Careful not to wake anyone, Adam rises and quietly slips away, making his way through the towering doors and into the drafty corridors beyond. The castle feels different in the early hours today—quieter, yet tense, as though holding its breath in the wake of the previous night’s events. The absence of students roaming the halls only adds to the eerie stillness.
Upon reaching the entrance to Gryffindor Tower, he pauses. The Fat Lady’s portrait has been repaired, though the canvas still bears faint marks of distress. She is nowhere to be seen—likely still shaken from her encounter and seeking refuge among the other portraits. With a small shrug, Adam steps inside, the warmth of the common room offering some comfort against the lingering unease in the castle.
He heads straight to his dormitory, where Seraphina is already awake, perched on her stand and nibbling on a treat—likely provided by Mip. Adam pets Seraphina, running his fingers through her sleek feathers as she hoots in appreciation. Finally, after freshening up, he makes his way toward Dumbledore’s office.
Dumbledore is seated at his desk when Adam arrives, his half-moon spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose as he observes the young wizard with his usual twinkle-eyed curiosity. The soft scratching of a quill against parchment ceases as he sets his work aside, offering Adam a warm nod of greeting.
“Good morning, Adam,” Dumbledore says, his voice gentle yet knowing.
“Good morning, Professor,” Adam replies, stepping inside. His gaze drifts toward Fawkes and without hesitation, he reaches into his pocket and retrieves a small piece of food, offering it to the bird. Fawkes trills melodiously in response, his golden-red plumage shimmering in the dim light.
As he takes in the familiar sight of the headmaster’s office, Adam allows his eyes to linger on the many enchanted portraits lining the walls.
“Professor Black,” Adam addresses, turning to the imposing figure of Phineas Nigellus Black. “What do you think about the current state of the Black family?”
Phineas, ever the proud and sharp-tongued aristocrat, straightens in his ornate frame, regarding Adam with an air of scrutiny. “I do not expect my family’s lineage to wither away,” he states firmly, his tone tinged with a sense of unwavering pride. “Though… I will admit that my descendants have strayed from the proper path.” His gaze flickers with something unreadable before he continues. “Sirius, for instance, is no longer considered part of the family.”
A pause. Then, in a rare moment of candor, Phineas adds, “And yet, despite his so-called disgrace, I do care for him. Even if he is a convicted criminal.”
Adam studies him carefully, noting the subtle contradiction in his words. “What if Sirius was innocent? What if his crimes were false?”
Silence hangs in the air for a beat before Dumbledore, who has been listening quietly, finally speaks. “And what do you think, Adam?”
Before he can answer, Phineas interjects, his voice thoughtful rather than dismissive. “I believe Adam may be right on this.”
Adam doesn’t respond right away. He considers his words carefully, allowing his thoughts to settle before speaking. “Maybe the Dark Lord—or someone working with him—framed Sirius.”
Dumbledore watches him closely, nodding slightly but saying nothing.
Deciding to shift the conversation, Adam asks, “Did the professors find Sirius Black anywhere in the castle?”
Dumbledore folds his hands together. “No,” he answers simply, though his calm demeanor suggests he had expected as much.
Satisfied for now, Adam turns his attention to another set of portraits—the founders. Their presence always carries a weight, an unspoken authority that lingers in the room.
“Lady Rowena,” he addresses, inclining his head toward the regal figure of Rowena Ravenclaw. “May I ask you something?”
Rowena, ever poised and composed, tilts her head in acknowledgment. “Speak.”
Adam hesitates only briefly before voicing his question. “Who was the first wizard? Do you know anything about him or her?”
Rowena considers his words, her sharp, intelligent eyes narrowing in thought. When she speaks, her voice is measured. “As far as I know, Jamanekh, an Egyptian wizard who lived around 2600 BC, is the first known wizard recorded in history. However,” she adds, “it is possible that others came before him, hidden from history—practicing magic in secrecy, even from their own kind.”
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Adam nods slowly, absorbing the information. “I was just curious,” he says, though his mind is already racing.
Taking his leave, he exits Dumbledore’s office, deep in thought. His information network—comprising contacts in Hogsmeade—had provided some details about ancient wizards before, but their records only traced as far back as the 1st century AD, not BC. This new lead could be invaluable. He resolves to pass it along to his organization so they can investigate further.
His organization—a discreet network he had built from the ground up—exists for two primary reasons. Firstly, to uncover the secrets of lost and forbidden magic, along with the earliest practitioners of wizardry. Secondly, to protect magical creatures from exploitation, ensuring their safety outside the grasp of those who would abuse them.
Adam knows that with the inevitable rise of dark forces, magical creatures will become easy targets—used as weapons, commodities, or worse. He intends to prevent that. Quietly. Efficiently.
Shaking off his thoughts, he makes his way back to Gryffindor Tower, where most students have already returned after breakfast. The dormitory hums with soft conversation and the rustling of parchment as students prepare for the day. Feeling refreshed but still contemplative, Adam descends to the Great Hall.
The first class after breakfast is History of Magic—dull and sleep-inducing to most, but not to Adam. Unlike many of his classmates, he finds the past fascinating, filled with pieces of knowledge waiting to be uncovered. As usual, Professor Cuthbert Binns, the ghostly lecturer, floats above the classroom, his monotone voice drifting through the air like an eternal lullaby. Quills scratch lazily against parchment as students attempt to take notes—or at least make it seem like they are.
But today, Adam has a question.
Raising his hand, he waits until Binns gives the barest sign of acknowledgment before speaking. “Professor, do you know any wizards from the late BC era? Or any records of the first magic ever performed?”
A ripple of awareness spreads through the classroom. Usually, Binns' lectures pass by unnoticed, his audience barely conscious, but now—even those who never pay attention glance up, intrigued. A few students exchange curious looks, surprised by the unexpected break from the usual drudgery.
Professor Binns blinks, momentarily caught off guard. His translucent form flickers slightly before he responds, his tone carrying a hint of rare engagement. “As far as historical records indicate,” he begins, “there were a few notable families and powerful wizards during the late BC period. The Ollivander family, for instance, has a lineage that traces back to around 382 BC, when their wand-making craft first emerged.”
He pauses as if dredging up long-forgotten knowledge before continuing. “There are also mentions of lesser-known, yet significant, wizards—Sorin Shadowthistle, Tarquin Firebrand, Theon Epiphani, and Thorne Aestrawood. While not as well-documented as figures from later eras, these names have surfaced in various historical accounts.”
Adam commits the names to memory, already planning to investigate them further.
“As for the first magic ever performed,” Binns continues, “that remains a mystery. There is no surviving record of the very first spell cast, nor of the first wizard to wield magic.” His gaze turns slightly more focused, as if peering into some distant past only he can see. “However, if your curiosity persists, you may find some insight in the Restricted Section of the library.”
Murmurs ripple through the room at the mention of the Restricted Section. Binns remains unfazed. “I shall grant you a pass to borrow The History of Magic by Ulric Hexweaver. While it may not provide a definitive answer to your question, it will certainly broaden your understanding of ancient magical practices.”
Adam’s interest sharpens. This is exactly the kind of resource he needs. “Thank you, Professor,” he says, nodding appreciatively.
Before he can say anything further, a voice from the Slytherin side of the room interrupts.
“Professor, can I get a pass too?”
The class collectively turns to see a smirking Slytherin student reclining in his chair, his tone dripping with feigned innocence. A few of his housemates chuckle under their breath, clearly in on the joke.
For the first time in memory, Binns fixes a student with something resembling a glare. “You only want access to the Restricted Section for mischief,” he says dryly. “Sit down.”
The class erupts into laughter as the Slytherin’s smug expression falters, his confidence momentarily deflated. Adam smirks as well, though his mind remains focused on what matters—the new information he has just acquired.
After History of Magic, the students make their way to the greenhouses for Herbology. Today's lesson focuses on Mimbulus Mimbletonia, a rare and peculiar-looking plant known for its defensive mechanism—releasing a foul-smelling liquid when threatened. Professor Sprout enthusiastically explains its properties, demonstrating how to carefully handle it without triggering its infamous Stinksap. Despite her warnings, Neville Longbottom, in his usual luckless fashion, accidentally prods one too hard, causing it to erupt. The greenhouse fills with the putrid odor, and students scramble to cover their noses, groaning in protest.
Adam, having stepped back just in time, watches with mild amusement as Professor Sprout quickly casts a cleaning charm, muttering under her breath about "poor technique."
The afternoon passes swiftly, and by lunchtime, Adam finds himself seated across the trio in the Great Hall. As he eats, he senses Ron eyeing him curiously.
“Why are you suddenly interested in ancient history?” Ron finally asks, mouth half-full of chicken pie.
Adam shrugs, keeping his answer vague. “Just gaining extra knowledge.”
Ron scrunches his face, clearly baffled. “I can’t even keep up with current subjects, and you’re out here going beyond that?”
Hermione, ever sharp, interjects before Adam can respond. “That’s because you’re an idiot, Ron.”
Ron glares at her. “Oi!” He jumps to his feet, knocking over his goblet as he chases Hermione around the table. She only laughs, dodging him with ease.
Harry shakes his head with a smirk, turning his attention back to his food.
The day continues with Transfiguration, where Professor McGonagall introduces the class to the Draconifors Spell—a fascinating bit of magic that temporarily transforms objects into small, dragon-shaped creatures. With a precise flick of her wand, she transforms a wooden carving on her desk into a tiny, winged dragon, which flaps its way across the room before vanishing into smoke.
Adam watches closely, intrigued. He makes a mental note to practice it later as he already know about the spell—perhaps he could experiment with different materials and see if the transformation holds longer.
As the afternoon comes to an end, he heads toward the final class of the day—Flying, with fewer students. The crisp afternoon air is refreshing, a welcome change from the dusty classrooms and crowded corridors. As he mounts his broom, he relishes the weightlessness that comes with soaring above the castle grounds. Flying has always been a way to clear his mind, and today is no different. Soon, he will return to his research and spend time with his magical friends—but for now, he simply enjoys the freedom of the sky.