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[ Shadow Monarch in One Piece].
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Third POV:
The lesson dragged on like a slow-burning curse.
Minutes stretched into what felt like hours, each second heavier than the last, each tick of the old clock on the wall a reminder that time had stopped caring about anyone in this room. The air grew thicker, warmer, filled with steam rising from two dozen cauldrons and the heat of too many bodies pressed into too small a space.
Ingredients were added.
Students moved in slow, careful motions, their hands trembling slightly as they measured and poured and stirred. Pinches of dried herbs. Drops of viscous liquids. Powders that shimmered with an unnatural light. Each addition was a gamble, a prayer that this time, this one time, they had done it right.
Cauldrons bubbled.
Soft pops and hisses filled the room, a chorus of miniature explosions and chemical reactions that sounded harmless but carried the weight of potential failure. Some cauldrons released pleasant steam, fragrant and sweet. Others let out dark smoke, acrid and angry, signaling disaster before Snape even reached them.
Mistakes were made—
—and punished.
Snape moved through the classroom like a shadow, his presence alone enough to suffocate any attempt at confidence. His robes brushed against desks, his footsteps fell soft but certain, his dark eyes missed nothing. Every wrong measurement, every rushed stir, every flinch of uncertainty—he saw it all.
Every now and then—
"Wrong."
A single word. Quiet. Devastating.
A wand flick followed, casual and precise, and the offending potion would bubble violently before collapsing into a useless, smoking mess. The student responsible would stare at their ruined work, face pale, hands frozen, too afraid to even look up at the professor standing over them.
A potion ruined.
Another student humiliated.
The pattern repeated again and again, a relentless cycle of hope and disappointment. Someone would try their best, would follow the instructions carefully, would believe that this time might be different. And Snape would appear beside their desk, would examine their work with cold, disinterested eyes, would find something wrong—always something wrong—and would destroy everything they had worked for with a single word and a flick of his wand.
Time passed.
Slowly.
Painfully.
The clock on the wall ticked onward, indifferent to the suffering below. The light from the windows shifted, the shadows growing longer, the sun moving across the sky in its slow, eternal arc. Outside, somewhere far away, birds sang and wind blew and students in other classes probably laughed.
Inside this room, no one laughed.
Until finally—
Snape returned to the front of the class.
His footsteps carried him back to the space before the blackboard, his robes settling around him like dark wings folding. He turned to face them, his hands clasping behind his back, his chin lifting slightly.
The room fell completely silent.
Even the cauldrons seemed to quiet, the bubbling fading to almost nothing, as if the very liquids in their metal containers knew better than to make noise when Snape was about to speak.
He glanced once across the students, his expression unreadable.
His dark eyes moved from face to face, pausing here and there, lingering on some, skipping past others. What he was looking for, no one could tell. What he found, he kept to himself.
"That will be all for today."
The words were simple. Flat. Devoid of any warmth or encouragement. They landed on the students like a pardon from a judge, unexpected and barely believable.
A pause.
His gaze swept across the room one more time.
"If any of you have managed to produce something remotely drinkable… consider it a miracle rather than an achievement."
A few students immediately began packing, careful not to make too much noise.
Their movements were quick but quiet, practiced and precise. Books slid into bags. Quills disappeared into cases. Parchment was rolled and tied with practiced efficiency. No one wanted to be the last one in this room. No one wanted to draw Snape's attention for a single second longer than necessary.
"Leave your potions. I will evaluate them… though I do not expect to be impressed."
Chairs scraped lightly.
The sound was soft, muffled, as if even the furniture was trying not to attract attention. Wood against stone, brief and quiet, then silence again.
Books closed.
The thump of heavy covers meeting heavy pages echoed through the room, a sound that usually meant freedom. Today, it just meant the end.
Whispers—barely audible—filled the air.
Students leaned toward each other, voices low, words quick. Relief. Frustration. Quiet complaints about ruined work and lost points. None of it loud enough for Snape to hear, but all of it audible enough to remind everyone that they were still human, still capable of normal conversation, even in this place.
Students began filing out quickly, like survivors escaping a battlefield.
They moved in groups, huddled together, shoulders brushing, voices rising as they reached the corridor outside. The door opened and closed, opened and closed, letting in brief flashes of light and sound before sealing again.
Within a minute, most of the desks were empty.
Most of the students were gone.
But not all.
---
Adam stood up from the back, stretching slightly, his usual smirk returning.
His arms lifted above his head, his back arching, his shoulders rolling. The motion was slow, relaxed, almost theatrical—like a cat waking from a long nap. His chair scraped against the floor as he pushed it back, the sound loud in the near-empty room.
"…Finally."
The word came out as a sigh, half relief and half boredom. His hands dropped to his sides, then reached for his bag, gathering his things with lazy, unhurried movements.
He grabbed his things and turned toward the door—
"Not you."
The voice cut through the room like a blade.
Snape hadn't moved from his position at the front. His hands were still clasped behind his back, his posture still straight, his expression still unreadable. But his eyes—his eyes had shifted. They were fixed on Adam now, dark and focused, carrying a weight that made the air feel heavier.
Adam stopped mid-step.
One foot was in the air, halfway to the door, frozen in place like a statue. His bag hung from one hand, his robes draped over his arm, his body caught between movement and stillness.
A pause.
The silence stretched, thin and fragile, ready to break.
"Mr. Sainz."
The name hung in the air, formal and cold, stripped of any familiarity or warmth. Snape said it the way someone might announce a disease—precise, clinical, detached.
The remaining noise died instantly.
The few students still packing froze mid-motion, their hands hovering over their bags, their eyes darting toward the back of the room. No one moved. No one breathed.
A few students glanced back with sympathy.
Their faces were soft, concerned, the kind of looks you give someone when you're glad something isn't happening to you. They lingered for a moment, then turned away, hurrying toward the door, eager to escape before Snape changed his mind and decided to keep them too.
Others—relief it wasn't them.
Their shoulders dropped. Their breath escaped in quiet sighs. They slipped out of the room quickly, quietly, not looking back, not wanting to see what happened next.
The door closed behind the last of them.
And then—
It was just Adam.
And Snape.
And the silence between them.
Adam exhaled quietly.
The breath left his lungs in a slow, controlled stream, carrying with it the last of his relaxation. His shoulders squared. His posture straightened. His smirk faded, replaced by something more neutral, more careful.
"…Ohh… my dear life," he muttered under his breath.
The words were soft, almost inaudible, meant only for himself. His lips barely moved, his voice barely carried. But in the silence of the empty classroom, Snape heard.
Of course he heard.
He turned calmly and walked toward the front.
Step by step—
His shoes made soft sounds against the stone floor, each footfall deliberate, unhurried. He didn't rush. Didn't hesitate. Just walked, steady and sure, carrying himself with the same relaxed confidence he always had.
Until he stood before Snape.
Straight.
Attentive.
Waiting.
His hands hung at his sides, empty now, his bag set down somewhere behind him. His chin was level, his eyes focused, his expression open but guarded. He looked like a soldier standing before a general, ready for whatever came next but not willing to show it.
---
Snape didn't speak immediately.
He simply looked at him.
Closely.
Carefully.
Like a man examining something rare… or dangerous.
His dark eyes moved across Adam's face, studying the line of his jaw, the set of his mouth, the stillness of his gaze. They traveled up to his hair, down to his collar, across his shoulders, taking in every detail, every small sign, every tiny tell.
His dark eyes narrowed slightly, scanning Adam's face—not just looking, but studying.
The intensity of it was uncomfortable, the kind of attention that made most people squirm, made them look away, made them find something interesting on the floor. But Adam didn't flinch. Didn't blink. Didn't break eye contact.
The silence stretched.
Uncomfortable.
Intentional.
Snape was waiting for something. A crack in the armor. A sign of weakness. A twitch or a swallow or a shift in weight that would reveal something underneath the calm surface.
Adam gave him nothing.
Then—
"Last night…" Snape began slowly, his voice low.
The words came out measured, deliberate, each one chosen with care. His tone was flat, neutral, giving nothing away. He wasn't asking a question. He was stating a fact.
"…I asked you to go to the Dark Forest."
Adam opened his mouth—
"I know everything."
Snape cut him off instantly.
Same tone.
Cold.
Certain.
The words landed like stones dropped into still water, sending ripples through the silence. Adam's mouth closed. His jaw tightened. His eyes, which had been steady and calm, sharpened almost imperceptibly.
For a split second—
Adam's mind sharpened.
Everything?
The word echoed in his head, loud and insistent, setting off alarms that he couldn't afford to show. His thoughts raced, jumping from possibility to possibility, searching for an explanation, searching for a way out.
A flicker of tension passed through him.
His shoulders, which had been relaxed, tightened. His fingers, which had been loose, curled slightly. His breathing, which had been steady, paused for just a moment.
Did he find out?
The questions came fast, overlapping, demanding answers he didn't have. How much did Snape know? What did "everything" mean? Had someone talked? Had something been found?
But Snape continued—
"…I told you that after it… you would join the Quidditch team."
The words broke through Adam's spiraling thoughts like sunlight through clouds. His racing mind slowed. His tense shoulders relaxed. His curled fingers straightened.
Adam blinked once.
The tension disappeared.
Replaced by—
"…Seven hells… are you sure?"
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
His voice was higher than usual, carrying a note of genuine surprise that he hadn't intended to show. His eyebrows rose slightly, his mouth opened wider, his whole face shifting from careful neutrality to open shock.
A pause.
He caught himself almost immediately, his expression smoothing back into something more controlled, more respectful.
Then he straightened instantly.
His spine snapped into perfect alignment, his shoulders pulled back, his chin lifted. The transformation was quick, almost theatrical, like watching someone put on a mask.
"…I mean—"
His voice dropped, becoming smoother, more polished.
"…that's a pleasure, sir."
The words came out formal, practiced, carrying the same tone he had used with McGonagall earlier. The tone of a student who knew how to play the game, who knew when to push and when to yield.
Snape's lip curled slightly.
Not quite a smile.
More like restrained disdain.
The corner of his mouth lifted, just barely, just enough to show that he had seen what Adam had done and found it mildly amusing. Or mildly pathetic. It was hard to tell which.
"How touching. Mr. Sainz discovering manners only when it benefits him."
His voice was dry, flat, carrying none of the warmth that usually accompanied humor. But there was something underneath it—something that might have been approval, might have been mockery, might have been both.
He stepped slightly closer.
The movement was small, just a few inches, but it changed everything. The space between them shrank, the air grew heavier, and Adam had to fight the urge to step back.
"Try not to fall off your broom. It would be… inconvenient to explain such a loss to the school."
A beat.
His eyes held Adam's, dark and unreadable.
"Though not entirely surprising."
Adam smirked faintly.
The expression came naturally, slipping onto his face like it had never left. His eyes crinkled at the corners, his lips curved upward, and for a moment, he looked like the same lazy, teasing boy who had been arguing with Hermione an hour ago.
"…I'll try to survive, sir."
His voice was light, almost playful, but there was something underneath it—something that sounded almost like a promise.
Snape held his gaze for a second longer—
Then turned away.
The movement was dismissive, final, his robes swirling as he faced the blackboard. His hands unclasped and moved to the desk, his fingers spreading flat against the wood.
Dismissed.
Without saying it.
The silence between them shifted, becoming less tense, less charged. The conversation was over. The judgment had been passed. Whatever Snape had wanted to say, he had said it.
Adam didn't wait.
"Excuse me, sir."
He turned to leave—
But paused at the door.
Just for a moment.
His hand rested on the wooden frame, his fingers curled around the edge. The corridor beyond was bright, full of light and air and freedom. But he didn't step through. Not yet.
He glanced back slightly.
Just enough to see Snape's silhouette against the dark stone of the classroom. The professor hadn't moved. Was still standing at the front, still facing the blackboard, still as still as a statue.
"…Thank you… sir."
The words came out softer than he intended, quieter than he meant them to be. They hung in the air for a moment, unexpected and strange, before he turned and walked out.
The door closed behind him with a soft click.
---
The corridor felt different now.
Lighter.
Wider.
The stone walls seemed less oppressive, the torches less flickering, the shadows less deep. Students passed by in small groups, their voices echoing off the stone, their footsteps quick and carefree.
Adam stepped forward, hands in his pockets, a wide smile spreading across his face.
His shoulders were loose, his stride easy, his whole body radiating a relaxed confidence that hadn't been there before he entered the classroom. The tension that had coiled in his chest during Snape's interrogation had faded, replaced by something warmer. Something that felt like possibility.
"…A new place for training."
The words came out in a low murmur, meant only for himself. His eyes gleamed slightly, catching the torchlight, reflecting the excitement he was trying not to show too openly.
His mind was already racing ahead, already planning, already imagining. The Quidditch pitch, the brooms, the open air, the speed. It wasn't just a game. It was an opportunity. A place to push himself, to test his limits, to grow stronger.
Opportunities were opening.
Paths were forming.
And he intended to take all of them.
His smile widened as he walked, his footsteps echoing off the stone walls, carrying him toward whatever came next.
Behind him, somewhere in the darkness of the empty classroom, Snape stood alone, surrounded by cooling cauldrons and ruined potions and the lingering smell of failure.
But Adam didn't look back.
He never did.
---
[ End of Chapter 42].
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...