If you want to read more about my works or just to support me then here is my patreon:
Patreon.com/Doflamingo4 .
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If you liked this one. Cheek also my other stories:
[ Shadow Monarch in One Piece].
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Third POV:
he wooden door creaked shut behind them as the four young wizards stepped into Hagrid's house.
The sound was heavy, solid, the kind of thunk that came from wood that had been around for decades and would be around for decades more. The door settled into its frame with a soft groan, and suddenly the noises from outside—the wind, the distant birds, the rustle of leaves—became muffled, distant, like someone had turned down the volume on the world.
The inside was warm—almost too warm compared to the cool air outside. The change hit them immediately, a wave of heat that wrapped around their faces and hands and any exposed skin. Adam felt his damp clothes start to steam slightly, tiny wisps rising from his shoulders like he was slowly drying from the inside out.
A fire crackled in the fireplace, casting dancing orange shadows across the rough wooden walls. The flames moved constantly, shifting from red to orange to yellow, never staying the same shape for more than a second. Their light made everything in the room look alive—the walls seemed to breathe, the furniture seemed to shift, the shadows in the corners seemed to stretch and curl like sleeping cats.
Strange tools hung from nails on the walls. Adam recognized some of them—a hammer, a pair of shears, a thick leather apron—but others were completely unfamiliar. Metal objects with too many prongs. Wooden tools that curved in ways that made no sense. Glass containers in shapes that hurt to look at for too long. Half-finished objects scattered across shelves, some covered in cloth, others left out in the open like Hagrid had forgotten about them halfway through whatever he was making.
The faint smell of something… questionable lingered in the air. It wasn't bad, exactly. Just strange. Earthy and sweet and slightly burnt all at once, like someone had tried to bake a cake using dirt instead of flour and almost succeeded.
They took their seats around the heavy wooden table.
The chairs were mismatched—each one different from the others, each one clearly chosen because it was the right size for whoever usually sat there. One chair was noticeably larger than the rest, its legs reinforced with iron bands, its seat worn smooth from years of use. That one was obviously Hagrid's. The others were smaller, built for regular-sized people, but still rough and handmade, with uneven legs that made them wobble slightly on the stone floor.
Adam leaned back slightly in his chair, arms relaxed, still damp but clearly not caring anymore. His wet shirt pressed against the wooden backrest, leaving a dark mark that would probably be there for a while. His hair was starting to dry in strange patterns, some strands curling, others sticking straight up, none of them behaving. He didn't seem to notice or care.
Harry sat across from him, curious but cautious as always. His green eyes moved around the room, taking in every detail, every tool, every shadow. His hands rested flat on the table in front of him, fingers spread slightly, like he was ready to push himself up at any moment if something happened.
Ron leaned forward a bit, already scanning the table like a man preparing for either a feast… or survival. His eyes darted from one spot to another, checking for food, checking for danger, checking for anything that might explain the smell. His nose wrinkled slightly every few seconds, then relaxed, then wrinkled again.
And Hermione—
She sat slightly to the side.
Not fully facing the table.
Not fully facing them.
Her chair was pulled back from the others, just a few inches, but those inches felt like miles. Her body was angled toward the window, her shoulder presented to the group like a wall she had built between herself and everyone else.
Her arms were crossed tightly, her posture straight, and her gaze… fixed outside the small window beside her.
The glass was thick and slightly warped, old glass that had been made by hand and hadn't been replaced in years. Through it, she could see the edge of the Forbidden Forest, the tops of the trees swaying in the breeze, a patch of blue sky with clouds moving slowly across it.
She didn't look at Adam.
Not even once.
Her eyes stayed locked on the world outside, watching the leaves move, watching the clouds drift, watching anything that wasn't him. Her jaw was set, her lips pressed together, her whole face arranged in an expression of careful, deliberate neutrality.
The faint light from outside touched her face, but her expression remained controlled—almost too controlled. Like she was actively avoiding something. Or someone.
Adam noticed.
Of course he did.
His gaze drifted toward her more than once, lingering for a moment each time before moving away. He saw the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers gripped her own arms, the way her chest rose and fell with breaths that were a little too deep, a little too measured.
He said nothing.
His jaw tightened slightly, then relaxed. His eyes dropped to the table. His fingers tapped once, twice, three times against the wood, a soft, absent rhythm that only he could hear.
---
Then—
"Sooooo… what d'you think?"
Hagrid's voice boomed with excitement as he sat down heavily beside them, placing a large dish right in the center of the table.
The wood groaned under the weight of the dish. The whole table shifted slightly, one of the uneven legs lifting off the floor for a moment before settling back down. Hagrid's massive frame filled the space beside them, his shoulders barely fitting between the backs of the chairs, his knees pushing against the underside of the table.
All four of them slowly lowered their gaze toward the dish.
And… paused.
The "food" in front of them looked like it had lost a fight with reality itself.
It was a thick, uneven mass of something dark brown and slightly greenish, bubbling in places like it was still debating whether to be alive. Small bubbles rose to the surface, popped, then disappeared, leaving behind tiny craters in the thick surface. The texture was wrong—too lumpy in some spots, too smooth in others, like different parts of it had been cooked for completely different amounts of time.
Small chunks floated inside—some looked like vegetables, with recognizable shapes and colors that almost made sense. Others… definitely did not. Dark, fibrous things that could have been roots or could have been something else entirely. Pale, rounded objects that might have been some kind of bean or might have been small stones that had fallen in by accident.
A faint steam rose from it, carrying a smell that was both smoky and suspiciously metallic. The smoke part wasn't bad—it reminded Adam of campfires and autumn nights. But the metallic part… that was new. That was the smell of coins and blood and something that shouldn't be in food.
It wobbled slightly.
The whole dish. The whole thing. Just a tiny tremor, a small shift, like the stew was settling into a more comfortable position.
That was not a good sign.
Ron leaned back a bit.
His chair scraped against the stone floor, the sound sharp in the quiet room. His eyes were wide, his eyebrows raised, his mouth slightly open. He looked like he had just seen something that violated the laws of nature and was waiting for it to explain itself.
Harry blinked.
Once. Twice. Three times. Each blink was slow, deliberate, like he was hoping the food would look different when his eyes opened again. It didn't.
Adam stared.
His expression didn't change. His face remained perfectly neutral, perfectly blank, perfectly unreadable. But his eyes… his eyes were doing all the work. They traveled across the surface of the stew, taking in every lump, every bubble, every floating chunk, cataloging every detail with the cold precision of someone who was already planning his escape.
Hermione… didn't even turn.
Her gaze remained fixed on the window. The glass. The trees. The sky. Anything but the table. Anything but the dish. Anything but the look on Adam's face that she knew was there even though she wasn't looking at it.
Harry cleared his throat.
The sound was small, almost polite, like he was trying to get someone's attention without being rude about it.
"Hagrid…"
A short pause.
His green eyes moved from the dish to Hagrid's face and back again.
"…what exactly is this?"
Ron leaned in just a little, squinting like it might attack him. His nose wrinkled again, then stayed wrinkled. His hand hovered near his mouth, not quite covering it, not quite dropping to the table.
"Are you sure we won't end up sick?"
His voice was higher than usual, carrying a note of genuine concern that he wasn't trying to hide.
Hagrid looked genuinely confused.
His bushy eyebrows drew together over his beetle-black eyes. His mouth turned down at the corners, forming a small frown of genuine bewilderment. He looked at the stew, then at Ron, then back at the stew, like he was trying to figure out what they were seeing that he wasn't.
"Why?" he said, almost offended. "This's the most delicious thing yeh'll ever eat!"
He puffed his chest slightly, his pride clearly stung by their lack of enthusiasm. His massive hand gestured toward the dish with the kind of flourish usually reserved for much fancier food in much fancier places.
"It's called… Dragonroot Stew."
The name sounded impressive.
The dish… did not.
Hagrid continued proudly, pointing at it with a thick finger that could have crushed a rock.
"It's a mix of roasted dragonroot, mashed thunder-tubers, a bit o' salamander oil for flavor… and some forest herbs I found meself."
He smiled, clearly expecting praise.
Adam slowly leaned back.
His chair creaked under the movement, the wooden back pressing against his spine. His head tilted slightly, his eyes still fixed on the stew, his expression still unreadable.
"…That explains absolutely nothing."
His voice was flat, dry, the kind of flat that came from someone who had given up on understanding something and had moved straight to acceptance.
He let out a deep breath, then reached forward anyway.
"Just give it to me… I'm starving to death."
His hand closed around a spoon—a massive, heavy thing that looked like it had been carved from a tree branch. The wood was rough under his fingers, the bowl of the spoon deep enough to hold several normal bites at once.
Finally—
Hermione glanced at him.
Just for a second.
Her head turned slightly, her eyes moving from the window to his face in a quick, almost invisible motion. Her gaze landed on him for less than a heartbeat, taking in the wet hair, the damp clothes, the way his hand held the spoon like he was preparing for battle.
Her eyes carried that same annoyed look from before.
But underneath it, something else flickered. Something that looked almost like curiosity. Almost like concern. Almost like she wanted to see if he was going to survive whatever was about to happen.
Adam caught it immediately.
His head turned toward her, his eyes meeting hers for a brief, electric moment. His eyebrow raised slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching.
"…What?" he muttered casually.
She didn't answer.
Just looked away again.
Her gaze snapped back to the window, her jaw tightening, her arms crossing even tighter than before. The moment was gone, sealed away behind the wall of her shoulder.
"…Whatever."
Adam grabbed a spoon and took a bite.
The spoon disappeared into the stew with a soft, wet sound. When it came back out, it carried a lumpy, steaming mass of dark brown and greenish mystery. He stared at it for a moment, then opened his mouth and put it in.
He chewed once.
The sound was soft, almost delicate, like he was trying not to disturb the food more than necessary.
Twice.
His jaw moved slowly, deliberately, like each chew required conscious thought.
Then stopped.
Completely.
His whole body went still. His hand, which had been holding the spoon, stopped moving. His eyes, which had been scanning the room, froze in place. His jaw locked, his cheeks puffed out slightly, and his face went through a series of expressions in rapid succession—surprise, confusion, consideration, and finally, a kind of distant, philosophical acceptance.
His face froze.
Slowly, very carefully, he lowered the spoon back into the bowl.
The metal clinked against the ceramic, a small, final sound.
"…I changed my mind."
A pause.
His throat moved as he swallowed. It looked like it took effort.
"…Thank you."
He pushed the bowl slightly away from himself, just an inch, but that inch felt like a mile.
Ron choked back a laugh.
His hand flew to his mouth, pressing against his lips, but the sound escaped anyway—a strangled, wheezing noise that was somewhere between a cough and a giggle. His shoulders shook, his eyes watered, and his face turned red from the effort of not laughing out loud.
Harry turned away slightly.
His head tilted toward the wall, his hand coming up to cover his mouth. His shoulders shook too, though more subtly than Ron's. His green eyes were bright with barely contained amusement.
Hagrid frowned, confused, then took a bite himself.
His massive spoon disappeared into the bowl and came out piled high with stew. He put the whole thing in his mouth at once, chewed thoughtfully, and swallowed.
His expression shifted slowly.
His eyebrows came together. His head tilted to one side. His mouth opened slightly, then closed.
"…Hmm."
A pause.
His eyes drifted toward the ceiling, like he was consulting some higher power for answers.
"…Maybe I added more salamander oil than I should've."
Adam stared at him.
His expression was flat, unimpressed, carrying the weight of someone who had just risked his life for no good reason.
"…You think?"
---
"Hagrid… what's this?"
Ron's voice suddenly cut in, pointing toward something on the side table.
His finger was extended, trembling slightly, not from fear but from the effort of holding back his laughter. His face was still red, his eyes still bright, but his attention had shifted completely to something new.
All of them turned.
There, resting on a rough wooden surface, was a small object—about the size of a fist.
It sat on a small cloth, dark blue fabric that made it stand out even more. The cloth was folded carefully, almost reverently, like whoever had placed it there wanted to protect the object from scratches or dust or something worse.
It was oval-shaped, with a smooth, slightly glowing surface. The glow wasn't bright—nothing like a lamp or a fire. It was softer than that, gentler, like the light that comes off the surface of a lake when the moon is full and the water is perfectly still.
Its color shifted faintly between pale blue and silver, like moonlight trapped inside a shell. One moment it looked almost white, the next it had a hint of blue, the next a flash of silver. The changes were slow, subtle, almost hypnotic.
Thin lines ran across it, almost like veins… pulsing very slowly.
The pulses were faint, barely visible, but once you noticed them, you couldn't stop watching. A soft glow would travel along one of the lines, from one end to the other, then fade. A moment later, another line would light up. Then another. A slow, steady rhythm, like the object was breathing.
It didn't look like food.
That was already a good sign.
Hagrid followed their gaze.
His massive head turned toward the table, his eyes landing on the small object with an expression that was hard to read. Something between pride and caution. Like he was showing off something valuable but also worried about what might happen if it got too much attention.
"Ah… that?" he said, standing up and walking toward it carefully.
His heavy footsteps thudded against the stone floor, each one slow and deliberate. He didn't rush. He moved like someone approaching something fragile, something precious, something that required respect.
"That's somethin' I got yesterday… from the place I went to."
Harry leaned forward.
His chair creaked under the movement, the wooden legs scraping against the floor. His green eyes were fixed on the object, curious, intense, the way he looked at things that might be important.
"So… what is it?"
Adam shifted his eyes briefly toward Hermione.
His gaze moved without his permission, drawn to her like a magnet. She was still looking at the window, still not facing the table, still pretending the rest of the room didn't exist.
"…Do you have an idea?"
His voice was casual, almost indifferent, but there was something underneath it. A softness. An attempt to include her, to pull her back into the group without making it obvious.
She didn't even look at him.
Her head stayed turned toward the window, her profile sharp against the light. Her lips moved, forming a single word.
"No."
Just that. Short. Flat. Final.
Hagrid picked the object up gently, almost respectfully.
His massive fingers curled around it, cupping it like it was a baby bird. The object looked tiny in his hands, fragile, almost lost against his thick skin and rough knuckles. The light from the object reflected off his palm, casting pale blue shadows across his fingers.
"It's called a Moonvein Core."
The name alone caught their attention.
It hung in the air, heavy with meaning, carrying the weight of old magic and older places.
He turned it slightly in his massive hand.
The light shifted as it moved, the blue and silver swirling together, the veins pulsing faster for just a moment before settling back into their slow rhythm.
"It forms deep underground, usually near places where magic gathers naturally—old forests, ancient ruins, places like that."
The faint glow pulsed again.
"It absorbs ambient magic over years… sometimes decades. The lines yeh see? That's the magic flow inside it."
Ron leaned closer, fascinated.
His chair scraped forward, his elbows landing on the table, his chin resting on his hands. His eyes were wide, his mouth slightly open, his freckles standing out against his pale skin in the dim light.
"What does it do?"
Hagrid shrugged slightly.
His massive shoulders rose and fell, the movement almost comical on his large frame.
"Depends on how it's used. Some use it to power enchanted objects… others grind parts of it into potions for strong magical effects. It can even stabilize unstable magic if used properly."
Hermione finally turned fully now, her curiosity clearly winning.
Her body shifted on her chair, her shoulders squaring toward the table, her arms finally uncrossing. Her hands came to rest on the wood in front of her, her fingers spread slightly, like she was preparing to take notes. Her eyes, which had been fixed on the window for so long, were now locked onto the Moonvein Core with an intensity that was almost hungry.
"That means it can act as a magical catalyst…" she murmured, eyes focused.
Her voice was quiet, thoughtful, the voice she used when she was working through a problem in her head. Her lips moved slightly, forming silent words as she processed the information.
Hagrid nodded.
His massive head bobbed up and down, his beard brushing against his chest.
"Exactly. But it's rare. Real rare. And not always stable if mishandled."
Adam leaned back slightly, observing it carefully, his expression thoughtful.
His eyes moved across the object, studying the veins, the pulsing light, the way the colors shifted. His fingers tapped against the table again, slower this time, more deliberate.
"…Interesting."
The word came out soft, almost surprised, like he hadn't expected to find anything interesting today and was pleasantly caught off guard.
The faint glow reflected in his eyes.
The blue and silver light danced across his pupils, making them look brighter than usual, sharper, more alive. His face was still damp, his hair still messy, his clothes still wrinkled, but in that moment, lit by the glow of something ancient and rare, he looked different.
And for a moment—
The room fell quiet again.
Not the awkward quiet from before. Not the tense quiet of almost-kisses and interrupted moments.
Just quiet.
[ End of Chapter 37].
To Be Continued ...
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Here we go with a bonus chapter... ( Don't forget to support me)...
N/ B : You would find both pictures of The Dragonroot Stew ( the food ) and also , The Moonvein Core ( mysterious object) Available in my patreon ( if you're interested).
_______________________
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...