Adam makes his way toward Aragog’s Acromantula colony alone today, without Hagrid’s reassuring presence. This is a bold step—one that he has been preparing for, but the weight of the decision still lingers at the back of his mind. The Forbidden Forest is treacherous enough, but stepping into the lair of a colony of Acromantulas alone is an entirely different risk. Still, if anything were to go wrong, he has an escape plan. Apparition is always an option, and with the level of magic he wields, dealing with potential threats wouldn't be impossible.

However, Adam’s confidence isn’t rooted in arrogance. His strength lies not just in his magical abilities but also in the wand he possesses. Made of Elder wood with a Dragon heartstring core, it is a formidable weapon—perhaps not as legendary as the Elder Wand one of the Deathly Hallows that Dumbledore wields, but undeniably potent in its own right. There is a raw power within it, one that Adam has yet to fully explore. Despite his years of spellcasting, he has never been forced into a truly serious battle where he had to push his magic to its limits. Part of him wonders what the wand’s true capabilities are, but this is not the time to experiment.

The thick foliage overhead allows only slivers of moonlight to filter through, casting eerie shadows on the forest floor as he moves deeper into the Acromantulas’ territory. The air is damp, filled with the scent of decaying leaves and the faint musk of creatures lurking unseen in the undergrowth. Every so often, his sharp eyes catch glimpses of movement—small creatures scurrying away at his approach, their rustling barely audible over the occasional hoot of an owl in the distance.

Lost in thought, Adam eventually finds himself at the entrance of Aragog’s burrow. The massive nest, woven from thick webbing and dark earth, is an intimidating sight even now, despite how often he has visited. This is where Mosag, Aragog’s mate, and many of their children reside. On his previous visits, he was never truly alone—Hagrid was always by his side, a protective barrier between Adam and the colony’s more aggressive members. Now, however, it is just him.

Gripping his wand firmly, he steps into the burrow, his boots sinking slightly into the softened earth. The thick, silky strands of webbing crisscross the cavernous interior, their pale sheen glowing faintly in the dim light. The scent of damp earth and old prey lingers in the air, but something feels… different. The usual chittering of small spiders is absent, and there is no immediate scuttling of legs along the burrow walls. Even the looming presence of the larger Acromantulas seems muted.

His brow furrows. It is unsettling.

He ventures deeper, his every sense on high alert. The eerie silence presses against his ears, unnatural in a place that should be teeming with movement. His fingers tighten around his wand, prepared for whatever might explain the colony’s uncharacteristic stillness.

Finally, he catches sight of Aragog. The massive spider, his once-magnificent body now weighed down by age, rests in the depths of the burrow. His many unblinking eyes glimmer in the darkness look at him.

ARAGOG’S POV

Aragog senses Adam’s presence even before the young human steps into the burrow. His sensitive leg hairs detect the faint vibrations of careful footsteps approaching, steady and unhurried. It is rare for this little Human to visit alone—without Hagrid’s towering presence beside him—but Aragog is not surprised. Today is the usual day when the boy brings food for the colony, a routine he has maintained without fail for over a year. It is an unusual kindness, one Aragog has come to recognize and respect.

Despite this, not all of his children share his sentiment. To many of them, Adam is still an outsider, a potential meal rather than a benefactor. The scent of human flesh stirs something primal in them, their instincts honed by centuries of predatory nature. The clicking of mandibles and faint rustling along the burrow walls signal their restless hunger. Aragog, however, exerts his will over them with a silent but firm command. He has made it clear—Adam is not to be harmed.

The chittering subsides. His children obey, though some do so reluctantly.

As Adam steps deeper into the lair, his form is outlined by the dim light filtering through the entrance. There is no hesitation in his movements, no fear in his scent. Aragog, impressed by the boy’s unwavering confidence, shifts slightly on his massive legs and greets him.

“Young Adam, you are alone today? No Hagrid with you?” His voice, though aged, carries its usual rasping authority.

Adam meets his many-eyed gaze with an ease that few possess. “I believe you won’t eat me on sight,” he responds smoothly. “And I always like to make friends with every magical beast I encounter.”

Aragog studies him for a moment before releasing a low, approving rumble. There is a simplicity to Adam’s words, but also an understanding that few wizards ever care to learn. Friendship, to creatures like Aragog and his kind, is not offered freely. It is earned. And Adam has long since proven himself worthy of their respect.

“Adam, you must know that some of my children are still not used to your presence,” Aragog warns, his many eyes glinting in the dimness. “However, most of them appreciate the food you bring—and your company. You will not be harmed.” He pauses, considering something before adding, “Whenever you need my or my family’s help, we will always be there.”

A silent pact is formed in those words, an unspoken agreement between predator and human.

Aragog watches as Adam nods in acknowledgment, then moves to distribute food among the colony. Slowly, cautiously, more Acromantulas emerge from their hiding places. First, the smaller ones, their spindly legs clicking softly against the earthen ground. Then the larger ones follow, drawn by the familiar scent of sustenance. Their multifaceted eyes gleam in the dim burrow, reflecting Adam’s form as he calmly lays down the offerings.

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For now, the colony is at peace.

POV ENDS

Adam feels a deep sense of satisfaction, knowing that Aragog and the majority of the colony are beginning to accept him. This is no small feat—Acromantulas are not known for their kindness, least of all to humans—but through patience, persistence, and a mutual understanding, he has carved out a place among them. Though some spiders still regard him with wary eyes, their legs tensed as if ready to strike at the slightest provocation, Adam does not let it bother him. Trust takes time, and he is willing to wait.

A few of the smaller Acromantulas, however, have already warmed up to him. As they skitter closer, clicking their mandibles eagerly, Adam crouches and extends a piece of food toward them. One particularly bold one steps forward, its eight beady eyes watching him intently before cautiously snatching the offering from his hand. Adam chuckles as another nudges at his boot, clearly waiting for its turn. He obliges, handing out the meat until the younger Acromantulas have had their fill.

Eventually, he rises to his feet and makes his way toward the exit, his steps careful as he navigates past the thick webbing stretched along the burrow walls. As soon as he steps into the open air, he exhales a relieved sigh. Though he enjoys these visits, there is always an underlying tension in being surrounded by creatures capable of tearing him apart in an instant. Trust or not, instincts run deep.

The forest around him hums with life as he makes his way back, the distant hoots of owls mingling with the rustling of unseen creatures in the underbrush. The moon hangs low in the sky, casting silver beams through the thick canopy, illuminating his path just enough to see where he is stepping.

It is during this quiet walk that he stumbles uponDiricawls, their plump, feathery bodies pecking at the ground in search of food. The moment they spot him, a few of them poof out of sight, appearing in front of him asking for food. Adam watches in amusement as they continue their antics—until, as always, one particularly persistent Diricawl flutters up and perches itself right on his head.

He sighs, though there is no real irritation behind it. "You again," he mutters, reaching up to give the bird a gentle pat.

This particular Diricawl has taken quite a liking to him, latching onto him every time he crosses paths with the flock. He has been considering giving it a name, and as it settles comfortably into his hair like it belongs there, a fitting one comes to mind.

"Clingy," he muses aloud. "Yeah, that suits you."

The newly named Clingy lets out a soft chirp, seemingly pleased with the designation.

After feeding the flock with some food he has on him, he gently removes Clingy from his head, placing the stubborn bird back on the ground. "Go on, eat with the others," he tells it. Clingy gives him a look—one that, if he didn’t know better, he’d say was pure reluctance—but eventually waddles off to join the rest of the flock.

With a small shake of his head and a smirk tugging at his lips, Adam continues his journey back to Hogwarts.

By the time he reaches the castle, dinner is already in full swing in the Great Hall. The warm glow of floating candles casts a golden hue over the long tables, the air filled with the comforting clatter of cutlery and the lively chatter of students discussing their day.

Spotting the trio at their usual spot, Adam weaves through the crowd and slides into the empty seat beside them. He barely has time to reach for a serving of roasted potatoes before he turns to Harry. "How was your day?" he asks, genuinely curious.

Harry exhales a long, suffering sigh, poking at his food with his fork. “Boring as usual,” he grumbles. “I can’t even go outside on weekends.”

Adam suppresses a grin. He knows how much being cooped up frustrates Harry, especially when the rest of them have the freedom to visit Hogsmeade. Still, considering the circumstances, it’s not surprising.

"Yeah, that does sound dull," Adam agrees, though there’s a knowing glint in his eye. He has no doubt Harry will find a way to make things more interesting soon enough.

After dinner, Adam returns to his dormitory, intending only to rest his eyes for a moment. However, the warmth of the blankets and the soft murmur of the fire lull him into a deeper sleep than he had anticipated. When he finally wakes, the castle is silent, bathed in the eerie glow of moonlight filtering through the windows. Midnight has arrived.

Pushing aside his lingering drowsiness, he swiftly casts a Concealment Charm over himself before slipping out of the Gryffindor common room. The halls of Hogwarts are vast and shadowed at this hour, the usual liveliness of the day replaced by an unsettling stillness. The only sounds are the occasional creaks of the ancient stone walls and the distant patrols of Filch and Mrs. Norris as always.

Tonight, he has the Room of Requirement to himself. Hermione had mentioned during dinner that she was too exhausted to join their usual late-night study session—understandable, given how much time she had been spending juggling classes, homework, and whatever secret research she was conducting. With her absent, Adam sees this as the perfect opportunity to explore something beyond mere academic study.

Upon reaching the seventh floor, he paces three times in front of the hidden entrance, focusing on what he desires. The familiar doorway materializes, and with a quiet breath, he steps inside.

The Room of Requirement has shifted from its usual study-friendly environment. Instead of shelves stacked with books and a comfortable workspace, the vast chamber resembles the chaotic labyrinth he encountered when searching for the hidden portrait. Towering heaps of discarded and forgotten objects surround him—ancient furniture, rusted suits of armor, broken wands, and tattered books spilling out from splintered shelves. Dust lingers in the air, illuminated by the dim glow of floating lanterns.

Adam picks up an old broom lying among the clutter, idly turning it over in his hands as he ventures deeper into the room, flying on it. He weaves through the maze of forgotten artifacts, his sharp eyes scanning the surroundings from above for the center of the Room of Requirement. Finally, he found it again—the circular spot and the cluster of void stone hovering, no longer hidden like before.

“You have returned,” the Room of Requirement acknowledges. “Why do you seek me again?”

Adam halts, gripping the broom instinctively before setting it aside after landing. He had half-expected this, yet the feeling of being addressed by the room itself remains an uncanny experience.

This time, rather than simply making a request, he decides to take a different approach. His curiosity has been growing ever since his last encounter with the room’s sentience, and now, he is not bound by time like last time; he has the chance to satisfy his curiosity.

“I want to know more about you,” he says, his voice steady but filled with genuine interest. “How did you gain sentience? What was your first thought? I want to understand your nature.”

A pause follows, the silence stretching between them like a test of his intent. Adam remains patient, waiting for the room’s response.

He knows better than to involve the Founders in this inquiry. They already harbor suspicions about his fascination with magic that toes the line of what is considered acceptable. If they knew he was contemplating the creation of a Room of Requirement for himself, their scrutiny would only deepen. That is a conversation he is not yet prepared to have.

Instead, he keeps his thoughts guarded, his expression neutral as he stands amidst the forgotten relics, awaiting the Room’s answer.