If you want to read more about my works or just to support me then here is my patreon:
Patreon.com/Doflamingo4 .
__
If you liked this one. Cheek also my other stories:
[ Shadow Monarch in One Piece].
Patreon.com/Doflamingo4 .
________________________________________________________________________________
Third POV:
They reached the classroom door just in time—
—or so they thought.
The wooden door stood before them, dark and heavy, the brass handle cool and smooth. It was closed, as always, hiding whatever waited on the other side. The stone corridor stretched behind them, empty now, the sound of their hurried footsteps still echoing faintly off the walls.
Before any of them could even touch the handle—
Tap…
Tap…
Tap…
The sound echoed through the corridor.
Slow.
Measured.
Sharp against the cold stone floor.
Each footfall landed with deliberate precision, not rushed, not hesitant. The kind of footsteps that belonged to someone who knew exactly where they were going and expected everyone else to move out of the way.
All four of them stiffened instantly.
Their shoulders tightened. Their spines straightened. The easy tension of the run, the relief of having made it, the small jokes they had shared in the corridor—all of it evaporated in an instant, replaced by something colder. Something more alert.
Ron swallowed.
His Adam's apple moved visibly, bobbing up and down. His face, which had been flushed from running, paled slightly. His hands, which had been swinging at his sides, pressed flat against his robes.
Harry straightened.
His shoulders pulled back, his chin lifted, his whole body shifting from relaxed student to alert observer. His green eyes darted toward the source of the sound, then away, then back again.
Hermione's posture became rigid.
Her back went ramrod straight, her shoulders squared, her hands clasped in front of her. Her expression smoothed into something neutral, something careful, something that gave nothing away.
Adam's smirk… deepened.
The corner of his mouth lifted further, his eyes narrowing slightly. Where the others showed tension, he showed interest. Where the others showed fear, he showed amusement.
From the far end of the corridor, a tall, dark figure emerged.
Professor Snape.
His long black robes flowed behind him like a shadow given form, barely making a sound except for the faint rustle that followed each precise step. The fabric seemed to drink the light from the torches, absorbing it, giving nothing back. His hair was dark, greasy, hanging on either side of his pale face like curtains parting just enough to reveal the stage.
His face was pale, expression unreadable—yet his eyes…
Cold.
Scanning.
Hunting.
They moved across the corridor, across the students, across the space between them, taking in everything and revealing nothing. Those eyes had seen countless students flinch, countless excuses crumble, countless lies exposed. They knew what they were looking for.
Tap… Tap… Tap…
Each step felt deliberate, like he already knew someone had made a mistake—and he was simply deciding who would pay for it.
He passed them without a word.
Not even a glance.
The dark robes swept past, close enough that Ron flinched back half a step. Close enough that Adam could smell the faint, bitter scent of potions ingredients clinging to the fabric. Something herbal. Something sharp. Something that made his nose wrinkle slightly.
Which somehow made it worse.
The silence that followed his passing was heavier than any words could have been. The absence of acknowledgment, the refusal to even look at them—it was a punishment in itself. A reminder that they were beneath his attention. That they weren't worth the effort of a glare.
Then—
BANG.
The door slammed open.
The sound was sudden, violent, echoing off the stone walls like a crack of thunder. The wooden door crashed against the wall behind it, the handle striking the stone with a sharp clang that made several students inside jump.
And just as harshly—
BANG.
It closed behind them as they quickly slipped inside after him.
The sound was final, absolute, cutting off the corridor and the light and the last moments of freedom they had outside this room. The door settled into its frame with a soft click, sealing them inside with whatever waited at the front of the classroom.
---
The classroom fell into immediate silence.
Not ordinary silence.
No.
This was the kind of silence that pressed against your ears.
Heavy.
Anticipating.
The calm before the storm.
The students sat at their desks, arranged in neat rows, each one facing the front of the room where Snape now stood. The desks were dark wood, scarred with years of use, covered in tiny scratches and faded stains from potions that had spilled and been wiped away. Cauldrons sat on some of the desks, empty and waiting, their metal surfaces reflecting the dim light from the torches on the walls.
The air smelled of old ingredients—dried herbs, powdered roots, something metallic that clung to the back of your throat. Shelves lined the walls, filled with jars and bottles and containers of every shape and size, each one holding something that most students couldn't identify.
Snape stood at the front, back turned for a moment, hands clasped behind him.
His robes fell in straight lines from his shoulders to the floor, unmoving, as if even the air respected him too much to disturb his clothing. His head was slightly bowed, his dark hair hiding his face, his posture perfectly still.
Then he turned slowly.
The movement was unhurried, deliberate, like a predator turning to face its prey. His robes swirled around his ankles, then settled. His hands unclasped and moved to rest on the desk in front of him, fingers spread, palms flat.
His gaze swept across the room.
One by one.
Like a blade passing over targets.
It moved from face to face, lingering on some longer than others, skipping past others entirely. There was no pattern to it, no way to predict where it would land next. That was what made it worse.
"Sit."
The word was quiet. Soft. Almost gentle.
And absolutely terrifying.
They already were.
Every student in the room had been sitting for minutes now, some for longer. But the command still carried weight, still made spines stiffen and hands fold and eyes drop to desks.
No one moved.
No one dared.
The silence stretched, thin and fragile, ready to break at the smallest sound. A quill scratching paper. A chair creaking. A breath too loud. Any of it would be enough.
No one made any of those sounds.
---
"Today…"
His voice came out low.
Smooth.
Dripping with boredom and quiet disdain.
The words rolled off his tongue like oil on water, spreading across the room, coating every surface, every student, every breath. He spoke as if he was reading from a book he had read a thousand times before, as if every word was a chore, as if being here was beneath him.
"We will continue exploring the delicate art of potion stabilization… though I suspect most of you lack even the basic cognitive capacity to understand its importance."
His eyes moved as he spoke, scanning the room, searching for the slightest reaction. A flinch. A frown. A sign that his words had landed.
A few students shifted nervously.
The sound of fabric against wood was loud in the silence, impossible to hide. Snape's gaze snapped toward the source—a boy in the second row, his face pale, his hands trembling slightly on his desk.
Snape walked between the rows.
Tap… Tap…
His footsteps were slow, deliberate, carrying him down the narrow aisle between the desks. His robes brushed against the edges of the wooden surfaces, the fabric whispering as it passed. Students on either side leaned away, shrinking into themselves, trying to become smaller, trying to become invisible.
"Tell me, Mr. Thomas…"
The boy froze.
His whole body went rigid, his eyes widening, his mouth opening slightly. His name hung in the air like a death sentence, heavy and inescapable.
"What happens when a stabilizing agent is added too early?"
His voice was calm, curious even, as if he genuinely wanted to know the answer. But everyone in the room knew better. Everyone knew that the question was a trap, that the answer didn't matter, that the response would be the same regardless of what came out of Mr. Thomas's mouth.
"…It… strengthens the potion?"
The words came out as a question, unsure, hesitant, hoping to be correct but already knowing they weren't. The boy's voice cracked on the last syllable, his confidence crumbling before he had even finished speaking.
A pause.
Snape slowly tilted his head.
The movement was small, almost imperceptible, but it changed everything. His eyes narrowed slightly. His lips pressed together. His whole face shifted into an expression that was almost, almost, a smile.
"…Fascinating."
The word sounded like an insult.
It hung in the air, dripping with sarcasm, heavy with mockery. It was the kind of word that made you feel small, made you feel stupid, made you regret opening your mouth at all.
"Completely incorrect… yet delivered with such confidence. A dangerous combination."
He turned away from Mr. Thomas's desk, his robes swirling, and continued walking down the aisle. The boy slumped in his chair, his face red, his hands now hidden beneath his desk.
A few quiet snickers spread—quickly silenced when Snape's gaze snapped toward them.
The laughter died in their throats. The smiles faded from their faces. The sound stopped as if someone had pressed a mute button on the entire room.
He moved on.
His footsteps continued their slow, measured pace, carrying him toward the other side of the classroom. Students held their breath as he passed, releasing it only when his back was turned.
"Miss Brown… perhaps you can redeem this intellectual catastrophe."
The girl straightened in her seat, her eyes wide, her hands gripping the edge of her desk. Her knuckles were white, her fingers trembling. She looked like she wanted to disappear into the wood.
She hesitated.
Her mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. Her eyes darted around the room, looking for help, looking for answers, looking for anything that might save her.
"Um… it… weakens the mixture?"
Her voice was small, uncertain, barely above a whisper. The words came out in a rush, tumbling over each other, desperate to be finished.
Snape stopped.
The silence that followed was deafening. He stood beside her desk, looming over her, his dark robes blocking the torchlight. His shadow fell across her face, making her look even paler than before.
Leaning slightly closer.
His head tilted down toward her, his dark hair falling forward, his eyes fixed on her face. She didn't move. Didn't breathe. Didn't blink.
"'Weakens.'" he repeated softly.
A pause.
The word hung between them, stretched thin, ready to break.
"How… delightfully vague. Are we brewing potions or writing poetry?"
His voice was soft, almost gentle, which made it so much worse. There was no anger in it. No heat. Just the cold, quiet disappointment of someone who had expected nothing and received exactly that.
Silence again.
Humiliation settled over the room like fog.
It crept into every corner, every desk, every student. It wrapped around them, cold and damp, making it hard to breathe, hard to think, hard to do anything except sit very still and hope not to be noticed.
Snape straightened.
His back clicked as he stood up fully, his hands clasping behind him again. His eyes swept across the room one more time, landing on faces, on desks, on the cauldrons that sat empty and waiting.
"Five points from Gryffindor. For guesswork masquerading as knowledge."
The words were final. Absolute. There was no arguing with them, no appeal, no second chance. The points were gone, taken by a man who seemed to take pleasure in taking them.
Somewhere in the room, someone sighed. Quietly. Softly. But Snape heard it. Of course he heard it. His head turned slightly, his eyes narrowing, but he said nothing. The sigh hung in the air, unacknowledged but not forgotten.
---
At the back of the class—
Adam leaned comfortably in his chair.
His posture was relaxed, almost lazy, his back pressed against the wooden slats, his legs stretched out beneath the desk. His arms were crossed over his chest, his fingers tapping against his elbow in a slow, steady rhythm.
A smirk played on his lips.
It wasn't the wide, teasing smirk he wore when he was joking with Ron or provoking Hermione. It was smaller than that. Quieter. The kind of smirk that came from watching something unfold exactly as expected.
His eyes followed Snape's movements with clear amusement.
He watched the professor walk between the rows, watched him destroy Mr. Thomas's confidence, watched him humiliate Miss Brown, watched him take points from Gryffindor with the casual ease of someone plucking leaves from a tree.
"Tsk…" he muttered under his breath.
The sound was soft, barely audible, lost in the heavy silence of the classroom. His lips barely moved, his voice barely carried.
"…I just love his way of teaching."
There was no sarcasm.
If anything—he meant it.
The precision.
The pressure.
The dominance over the room.
It was… efficient.
Snape didn't waste words. Didn't raise his voice. Didn't need to. He commanded the room with nothing more than presence and timing. Every word was chosen. Every pause was calculated. Every movement had purpose.
Adam respected that.
He watched Snape return to the front of the room, watched him turn to face the class again, watched his dark eyes sweep across the students one more time. The professor's expression hadn't changed. He looked as bored as he had when he walked in, as if nothing that had happened in the past few minutes had mattered at all.
But Adam knew better.
Snape noticed everything.
That was what made him dangerous.
---
But slowly—
His thoughts drifted.
The classroom faded. The students faded. Snape's voice became distant background noise, words without meaning, sounds without weight.
Hagrid's words echoed in his mind.
"The world of magic and wizardry is vast… and truly breathtaking…"
The half-giant's voice was warm, enthusiastic, full of wonder. It painted pictures of places Adam had never seen, places he hadn't known existed until today.
Adam's gaze unfocused slightly.
His eyes, which had been tracking Snape's movements, lost their sharpness. His vision blurred at the edges, the room becoming soft, indistinct, like a painting left out in the rain.
Places beyond Hogwarts…
No limitation of magic…
His fingers tapped lightly against the desk.
The sound was soft, rhythmic, matching the pace of his thoughts. Tap. Pause. Tap-tap. Pause. Tap.
How big can it actually be…?
The question sat in his mind, heavy and insistent. He had assumed Hogwarts was the center of everything. The castle, the grounds, the forest—it all felt so vast, so endless. But Hagrid had made it sound small. Made it sound like a single room in a house with too many doors to count.
If this place is just the beginning… then what lies beyond it?
A flicker of curiosity deepened.
It wasn't the shallow curiosity of someone wondering what was for dinner or what would happen in the next chapter of a book. It was deeper than that. Hungrier. The kind of curiosity that gnawed at the edges of his mind, demanding attention, demanding answers.
Different people… different worlds…
His thoughts began to spiral.
Images flashed through his mind—places he had never seen, faces he had never met, magic he had never imagined. Cities built on clouds. Forests where the trees walked. Oceans that stretched on forever, hiding things beneath the surface that had never seen the sun.
Creatures… magic… power…
His fingers stopped tapping.
His hand went still on the desk, palm flat against the wood, fingers spread.
One question led to another.
Then another.
Then another.
What kind of magic exists out there?
Are there stronger systems?
Different rules?
Other dimensions?
His eyes narrowed slightly.
The classroom came back into focus for a moment—Snape still at the front, still speaking, still commanding. But Adam wasn't really seeing him. He was looking through him, past him, at something only he could see.
And Middle-earth…
The name settled into his mind like a stone dropping into deep water. It had been there since the beginning, since the first message from the gods, since he had been told what he needed to do.
How does it connect to all of this?
The questions piled up.
Endlessly.
Each answer only creating more unknowns.
He thought about the Forbidden Forest, about the creatures that lived there, about the magic that pulsed beneath the soil. If that was just the edge of Hogwarts, and Hogwarts was just the beginning, then what was waiting further out? What was hiding in the places no one talked about, the places that didn't appear on maps, the places that most wizards were too afraid to even name?
"…Tch."
Adam clicked his tongue quietly.
The sound was sharp, cutting through his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. His eyes refocused. The classroom snapped back into clarity—the desks, the cauldrons, the students, Snape.
It was getting nowhere.
Too many variables.
Too many unknowns.
He exhaled slowly, brushing his hand across his face.
His palm dragged down from his forehead to his chin, pulling at his skin, stretching his features into a brief, strange shape. Then his hand dropped back to the desk, landing with a soft thump.
"Forget it…" he muttered under his breath.
His voice was quiet, annoyed, the voice of someone who had been chasing a thought and had lost it somewhere along the way.
Then leaned his head back slightly—
His chin lifted toward the ceiling, his eyes closing for a moment. The wood of the chair pressed against the back of his skull, cool and solid. The sounds of the classroom faded into a dull hum.
Eyes lifting toward the ceiling.
Blank.
Calm.
Empty—
Until suddenly—
His eyes opened again.
Sharp.
Focused.
The shift was instant, electric. One moment he was drifting, the next he was completely present, completely alert. His pupils contracted, his gaze sharpening like a blade being drawn from a sheath.
A small, dangerous smile forming at the corner of his lips.
It wasn't wide. Wasn't teasing. It was thin, knowing, the kind of smile that appeared when a puzzle piece finally clicked into place.
"…The Forbidden Section in the library."
The Restricted Section.
If there were answers to be found, that was where they would be.
His smile widened, just slightly.
[ End of Chapter 41].
To Be Continued...
___
A bonus chapter... Please don't forget to support me...
____________________
If you want to read more about my works or just to support me then here is my patreon:
Patreon.com/Doflamingo4 .
__
If you liked this one. Cheek also my other stories:
[ Shadow Monarch in One Piece ].
__
Patreon.com/Doflamingo4 .
__
Thank you all for reading...