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[ Shadow Monarch in One Piece].
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Third POV:
Adam stayed hidden between the tall shelves, unmoving, listening.
His back pressed flat against the wood, the edges of old books digging into his spine through his robes. His breathing was shallow, barely there, his mouth closed tight. His eyes were half-closed, focused inward, every part of him tuned to the sounds coming from the main part of the library.
Footsteps.
Voices.
Low whispers between a couple of students.
They moved slowly, their feet dragging a little on the stone floor. Tired students. Lazy students. The kind who weren't really looking for anything important, just killing time before dinner.
"…just take it and let's go…"
The first voice was male, young, annoyed. A boy who didn't want to be here. A boy who had been dragged along by someone else.
"…I swear I saw someone here…"
The second voice was female, quieter, more alert. She had seen something. Or thought she had. A movement between the shelves. A shape that didn't belong.
"…you're imagining things…"
Footsteps shuffled. A book was pulled from a shelf. The sound of pages being flipped, quick and careless, like someone checking a clock more than reading.
Then—
Footsteps again.
Moving away.
Getting softer.
Fading.
Fading.
Disappearing.
The heavy door of the library creaked open, then creaked shut.
Silence returned.
Complete silence.
The kind that felt thick and soft, like a blanket dropped over the whole room.
---
Adam waited.
His body stayed perfectly still. His eyes stayed closed. His ears stayed open.
One minute.
He counted the seconds in his head. Sixty. His chest rose and fell in slow, controlled breaths.
Two.
One hundred twenty. His fingers uncurled slightly from where they had been pressed against the shelf behind him.
Three.
One hundred eighty. He let his head tilt forward, his chin dropping toward his chest.
Only when he was completely sure—
When he had heard nothing for a full sixty seconds. No footsteps. No whispers. No creaking doors. No shuffling pages. Nothing.
He exhaled deeply.
"Peeeww…"
The breath came out long and loud, carrying all the tension he had been holding in his chest. His shoulders dropped. His back peeled away from the shelf. His whole body seemed to loosen at once, like a knot finally coming undone.
He ran a hand through his hair, a small grin forming on his lips.
His fingers pushed the dark strands back from his forehead, then let them fall back into place.
"…I always hated drama."
His voice was quiet, almost amused. He shook his head once, slowly, as if laughing at a private joke only he understood.
---
He stepped out from his hiding place and walked toward the exit of the library like nothing had happened.
His shoes made soft sounds on the stone floor, but he didn't try to hide them anymore. No need. The library was empty. The intruders were gone. The danger had passed.
Same calm posture.
Same confident stride.
His back was straight. His shoulders were level. His head was held high, not arrogantly, just… steadily. Like a soldier walking through a peaceful town after a long war.
That familiar smirk back on his face.
The corners of his lips curved upward, just enough to show that he was pleased with himself. Just enough to show that he had enjoyed the chase, even if he would never admit it out loud.
But inside—
His mind was active.
Roaming. Turning. Spinning.
The map.
He could still feel it pressed against his chest, hidden inside his pocket, folded into a small square of old paper. Its weight was tiny, barely noticeable, but in his mind, it felt heavy. Important. Dangerous.
The book.
The Forgotten History of the World. Still sitting on that shelf in the restricted section. Still hidden behind the larger book. Still covered in dust. Still waiting for him to come back and read more.
Westeros.
The name echoed in his head like a bell that wouldn't stop ringing. Westeros. Westeros. Westeros. He didn't know what it meant yet. Didn't know where it was or why it mattered. But the name alone felt charged. Loaded. Like a key that hadn't found its lock yet.
"…I really need to go back for that," he muttered quietly.
Half satisfied.
Half frustrated.
Satisfied because he had found something real. Something valuable. Something that no one else seemed to know about.
Frustrated because he had been interrupted. Because he hadn't finished reading. Because the map had fallen out and he had been forced to run before he could learn more.
He pushed open the library doors and stepped out into the corridor.
---
The castle had shifted into evening.
The sun had dropped below the horizon, and the last light of day filtered through the tall windows in long, slanted beams of orange and gold. The torches along the walls had been lit, their flames casting warm, flickering light across the stone floors.
Warm lights filled the corridors.
The cold gray of the afternoon was gone, replaced by soft yellows and deep oranges. Shadows danced in the corners, but they were gentle shadows, friendly ones, not the dark and waiting kind from the restricted section.
Students moved in groups, laughter echoing as they made their way toward one place—
The Great Hall.
Their voices bounced off the walls and ceilings, mixing together into a sound that was loud and happy and alive. Shoes scraped against stone. Bags bumped against hips. Someone was singing, badly, and someone else was telling them to stop.
The smell of food drifted through the air, warm and inviting. Roast meat. Fresh bread. Butter. Herbs. The kind of smells that made your stomach growl even if you weren't hungry.
---
Adam entered.
Instantly—
Noise.
Energy.
Life.
The Great Hall was huge, always huge, but tonight it felt even bigger. The enchanted ceiling above showed the evening sky, deep blue with streaks of orange and pink, a few early stars already starting to appear. Hundreds of candles floated in the air, hovering above the long tables, their flames steady and bright.
Students filled the long tables, voices overlapping in a chaotic symphony:
"Did you see Snape today?!"
A boy with messy brown hair leaned across the table, his eyes wide with disbelief.
"He literally destroyed my potion—"
A girl with pigtails buried her face in her hands.
"—I told you to add it later!"
A third student pointed a fork at the girl, shaking it for emphasis.
"—Quidditch next week, I swear we're winning this time—"
A tall boy in yellow robes pounded his fist on the table.
"—You always say that—"
His friend rolled his eyes and took a long drink from his goblet.
Laughter erupted.
The sound rolled across the hall like thunder, loud and infectious, spreading from table to table until almost everyone was smiling.
Food appeared across the tables in abundance—plates filled, goblets shining under the enchanted ceiling that mirrored the fading sky outside. Roasted chicken. Steamed vegetables. Piles of mashed potatoes with butter melting on top. Gravy boats floating down the tables, stopping whenever someone reached for them. Bread rolls still warm from the oven, their tops golden and shiny. Pumpkin juice and water and milk in pitchers that refilled themselves.
---
Adam stood for a moment.
Just inside the entrance. Just out of the flow of traffic.
His eyes moved across the room, scanning the long tables. Gryffindor. Hufflepuff. Ravenclaw. Slytherin. The four houses sat in their usual places, their banners hanging from the walls above them.
Looking for a place—
His gaze drifted from table to table, from face to face. Most students were already seated, already eating, already deep in conversation. Empty seats were scattered here and there, but most were between people he didn't know.
Then he saw her.
Sitting alone.
Quiet.
A little distant from the noise around her.
Cho Chang sat at the Ravenclaw table, near the far end, away from the largest groups. Her dark hair fell over her shoulders, smooth and straight. Her face was calm, peaceful, but her eyes had a distance to them, like she was thinking about something far away from the Great Hall. Her plate in front of her was mostly full. She had been picking at her food, not really eating.
A little distance from the noise around her.
Not completely alone—there were other Ravenclaws nearby—but separate. Separate by a few empty seats. Separate by the quiet way she held herself. Separate by the way her eyes stayed on her plate instead of joining the conversations around her.
---
He walked toward her without hesitation.
His feet carried him across the hall with the same calm, confident stride he always had. Between the tables. Past groups of students who glanced up at him as he passed. Past a first-year who dropped his fork when Adam's robes brushed his shoulder.
He pulled the seat—
The wooden bench scraped against the stone floor, a sharp sound that cut through the noise around them. A few nearby students looked up. Cho looked up.
Sat down—
He settled onto the bench across from her, his body sliding into place like he had been sitting there every night for years.
Then said casually:
"Hey…"
His voice was light. Easy. The kind of greeting you give to someone you see every day, not someone you're meeting for the first time.
A small pause.
Just long enough for her to react. Just long enough for her to blink and process what was happening.
"…may I sit here?"
Even though he was already there.
The question was polite. The tone was friendly. But the smirk on his lips said that he already knew the answer. That he would have sat down whether she said yes or no.
---
She looked at him.
Cho Chang blinked slightly, caught off guard as always.
Her dark eyes widened just a fraction. Her lips parted, then closed, then parted again. She hadn't been expecting company. Hadn't been expecting anyone to notice her sitting alone at the end of the table.
Her fingers tightened a bit around her goblet.
The glass was cool under her skin. She could feel the condensation on the outside, the slight dampness spreading across her palm.
"…Yes," she said softly.
Almost a whisper.
Her voice was quiet, but not shy. Soft, but not weak. The kind of voice that belonged to someone who didn't speak often, but meant what she said when she did.
---
Adam smiled.
Simple.
Natural.
No sharp edges. No hidden meanings. Just a smile, warm and easy, like sunlight through a window.
Then—
He started eating.
He picked up his fork. Cut a piece of chicken. Lifted it to his mouth. Chewed. Swallowed. Reached for a bread roll. Butter. Bite.
Like nothing unusual had happened.
Like sitting across from Cho Chang at dinner was the most normal thing in the world.
---
But behind him—
Not far—
Another pair of eyes was locked onto his back.
Sharp.
Unforgiving.
Burning.
Hermione Granger sat at her table, her fork paused mid-air.
The piece of potato on the end of her fork had been hovering in front of her mouth for a full ten seconds, untouched, forgotten. Her jaw was tight. Her shoulders were rigid. Her eyes were fixed on the back of Adam's head with an intensity that could have bored holes through stone.
Her gaze didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Her chest rose and fell in slow, controlled breaths, but there was nothing calm about them. Each breath was measured because she was forcing it to be. Because if she didn't force it, she might scream.
If looks could kill—
Adam would already be dead.
Ron, sitting next to her, noticed. He opened his mouth to say something, took one look at her face, and closed it again. He turned to Harry and mouthed the words: What happened?
Harry shrugged. He didn't know either. But he had seen that look before. And he knew better than to ask.
---
And far from the warmth of the Great Hall—
Beyond the castle walls—
Past the lawns and the gardens and the tall iron gates—
Near the edge of the Forbidden Forest—
At a small wooden hut—
A very different atmosphere unfolded.
The hut sat at the edge of the trees, its single chimney releasing a thin trail of smoke into the darkening sky. Pumpkins grew in a patch next to the door, their orange skins glowing faintly in the last light. A crossbow leaned against the wall. A pair of oversized boots sat on the step.
---
Rubeus Hagrid stood outside his home, his large frame tense in a way rarely seen.
Hagrid was not a man who tensed easily. He was big. Strong. Friendly. The kind of person who laughed loudly and often, who hugged too hard and cried at sad stories. But tonight, his massive arms hung straight at his sides. His beard, usually wild and untamed, seemed to droop. His eyes, normally warm and crinkled at the corners, were wide and dark.
Before him—
A massive, lifeless body.
Still.
Silent.
Too large to ignore.
Its many legs sprawled unnaturally across the ground.
The creature was huge. Bigger than a horse. Bigger than a carriage. Its body was dark, almost black, covered in thick, rough skin that looked like old leather. Its legs were long and jointed, each one ending in a sharp point that had been driven into the soft ground around it.
Aragog.
The giant acromantula. The king of the spiders. The creature that Hagrid had raised from an egg, hidden in the castle, protected from everyone who wanted it dead.
Its eyes were open.
Empty.
Cloudy.
The eight eyes that had once glowed with intelligence and age now reflected nothing but the darkening sky above.
The forest itself seemed quieter around it.
The usual sounds of the Forbidden Forest—the rustle of leaves, the calls of creatures, the movement of unseen things—were gone. Absent. As if the forest was holding its breath. As if the trees themselves were mourning.
As if something had been… broken.
Hagrid's lower lip trembled. His massive hands, each one the size of a dinner plate, opened and closed at his sides. His chest heaved with breaths that were too deep, too fast, too uneven.
He didn't cry. Not yet. But his eyes were wet, and his face was pale, and the big man looked smaller than he had ever looked before.
---
Not far from him—
Albus Dumbledore stood calmly.
Hands behind his back.
His purple robes hung straight and still, undisturbed by the evening breeze that moved through the trees behind him. His long silver beard fell to his waist, neat and smooth. His half-moon spectacles sat low on his nose, and above them, his blue eyes were bright and sharp.
Eyes fixed on the corpse.
Observing.
Analyzing.
Understanding more than he showed.
His gaze moved across the body slowly, methodically. The legs first. Then the body. Then the head. Then the ground around it. He noted the angle of the limbs. The position of the wounds. The way the earth had been disturbed.
Dumbledore's expression did not change. His face remained calm, serene even, the face of a man who had seen too much in his long life to be easily surprised.
But his eyes—
His eyes were different.
Behind the calm, behind the serenity, something moved. Something cold. Something calculating. The gears of the greatest mind of the age were turning, fitting pieces together, forming a picture that no one else could yet see.
---
No words were spoken.
Not yet.
Hagrid couldn't speak. His throat was too tight, his chest too heavy. The loss was too fresh, too raw, too big for words.
Dumbledore didn't speak. He was waiting. Thinking. Letting the silence do its work.
But the air was heavy.
Serious.
Dangerous.
The kind of heavy that sits on your shoulders and makes every breath feel like work. The kind of serious that makes jokes die in your throat before you can tell them. The kind of dangerous that makes you look over your shoulder even when you know you're alone.
---
Something had changed.
The castle was warm and loud and full of laughter. Students ate and talked and forgot about their troubles. The torches burned. The candles floated. The food appeared and disappeared and appeared again.
And this time—
It wasn't just Adam who knew it.
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[ End of Chapter 45 ].
To Be Continued...
___
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... Don't forget power stones... Please!!!