Harry Potter: The Bard of Hogwarts

The mountain valley was quiet.

Ino sat beneath the old oak tree, a square of white linen spread across the grass in front of him. Neatly arranged on it were dozens of paper packets, each sealed and labeled in fine script: Wormwood, Daisy, Skyplum, Sneezewort, Twinleaf, Guardian's Bark, Whomping Willow, Snapcane…

"Herb prices are ridiculous lately," Hermione muttered as she knelt beside him, cross-legged. "If it weren't for Professor Snape's recommendation, there's no way I could've afforded half these seeds."

"Ridiculous?" Ino echoed, blinking. Then his brow furrowed as understanding dawned. "Ah. The werewolves."

"Exactly." Hermione nodded, her tone heavy. "Something's going to give soon. You can feel it."

The words hung in the air like a summer storm that hadn't quite broken. Whatever good mood had lingered faded quickly, and silence returned.

Ino leaned back against the tree, mind drifting, not toward potions or politics, but toward the strange umbrella and the sensation it left behind. Earlier that day, when he'd used it, the feeling was unlike any standard spell.

It hadn't been just transfiguration. It felt like… amplification. Like the umbrella wasn't casting a spell so much as breathing life into his thoughts.

The idea was thrilling and a little unsettling.

In the valley, sure, things bent to imagination easily. But outside? He still didn't know what the umbrella was truly capable of. One way or another, he'd have to test it soon. Including its ability to create personalized dreams.

…

Hermione had fallen quiet too, though there was a different kind of tension in her silence.

Her eyes usually sharp and sure now held a distracted, almost troubled gleam. She stared at the seed packets without really seeing them, her fingers hovering above a pouch labeled Wolfsbane.

After a moment, she spoke, barely louder than a whisper. "Do you think the curse can be cured?"

"Wolfsbane?" Ino asked, glancing sideways.

She didn't answer immediately.

Instead, she asked softly, "Do you think it's truly irreversible? That lycanthropy can't be undone?"

Ino's gaze lingered on her. "Ten years ago," he said slowly, "if someone told you magic was real, what would you have thought?"

Hermione gave a faint huff. "That they were mad."

"And if someone told you that magic could create a moon, or reshape rivers, or spin stars into stories…"

She looked down, eyes narrowing on the seeds, as if seeing them properly for the first time.

"Yes," she said at last. "Yes, it can be cured. If we can bring someone back from the dead, we can do this too."

Her voice no longer wavered. Ino felt the shift immediately, like a stone dropping into a still pond.

A pulse of magic rippled through the air.

He'd seen this before. When a young witch or wizard committed wholly to a cause, the magic responded. It had happened to Pansy once. Now Hermione, too, had reached that threshold just before adulthood, just in time.

"Well then," Ino said, rising and brushing grass from his robes, "let's get them planted."

He grabbed a pair of seed packets and offered her a grin. "The future won't grow itself."

…

Time slipped away.

By the time the last seed was buried and the last label staked into the earth, the sun had begun to dip low behind the hills. September's final weekend was winding down, and golden twilight bled across the sky.

At the gates of Hogwarts, Filch and Moody stood side by side as students trickled back from Hogsmeade.

Filch, true to form, was obsessed with inspecting bags. Moody, meanwhile, had no interest in sweets or joke shop goods. His attention was fixed on the students themselves their expressions, their posture, their silences.

He ignored the fidgety ones. The anxious ones. Instead, he watched for blank eyes, stiff limbs, vacant faces. The ones who weren't present.

When Dumbledore had asked him to take the job, he'd expected boredom. Endless rules and essays and teenage angst.

Instead, he'd found something almost enjoyable. Especially moments like this, eyes peeled, instincts sharp. It was like being an Auror again, minus the paperwork.

As the last student stepped inside, Moody pulled the great gate shut behind them. With a faint groan, the doors latched. The night deepened.

Above the castle, warm lights began to glow in the windows, tiny golden squares against the dark.

Like stars, twinkling from inside the stone.

…

"Thanks for the sweets, Draco."

In the Slytherin dormitory, Ino was rummaging through a crumpled Honeydukes bag. He fished out a pale square of cream-colored fudge and popped it into his mouth.

"You're welcome," Draco muttered, flopping onto his chair. "Though I've half a mind to eat them myself next time."

"Long queues?"

"Long? I queued for an hour just for that bag. It's like everyone forgot what sugar tastes like."

Hogsmeade had only been off-limits for a month, but today the students had acted as if they'd been let out of Azkaban.

"Some of them were buying like they were stocking for winter."

Ino laughed, not so much at the story as at Draco's face sour, scowling, and entirely too dramatic. Like a cat denied its favorite cushion.

"Oh, go ahead and laugh," Draco snapped. "See if I bring you anything next time."

"Fine, fine," Ino said, raising his hands in mock surrender, chuckling still. "In return for your noble suffering, how about I give you a dream tonight?"

"A… dream?" Draco blinked. "What, like a bedtime story?"

"No," Ino said, suddenly serious. "A real dream. A good one. The kind you wake from smiling."

Draco squinted at him. "The last time you had that expression, you tried to enchant my shampoo. It turned my hair purple."

Ino gave him a look. "This isn't a prank. Trust me."

"…All right," Draco said slowly. "What do I have to do?"

"Easy. Wash up. Go to bed. That's it."

"Huh. Easiest experiment I've ever volunteered for."

…

Night fell.

Hogwarts sank into stillness, and one by one, the lights in the castle went out.

In the dormitory, Ino lay in bed, his breath steady, eyes half-closed. His cotton sleepwear glowed faintly in the darkness, an eerie shimmer, like moonlight caught in fog.

Had there been a mirror nearby, he might've noticed the resemblance to figures from ancient myths, those blessed (or cursed) with gifts from gods.

The glow wasn't loud. It didn't pulse or shine. But it was there. And in the silence, it whispered of things not entirely mortal.

Draco's breathing had slowed into a soft, rhythmic sigh.

Perfect.

Ino reached under his bed and unfurled the umbrella.

He opened it.

And something… shifted.

The change was subtle at first. A ripple in the air. A breath held by the castle.

But the rhythm, the pulse, grew stronger. A low, almost inaudible frequency spread from the umbrella outward, like ripples on a pond.

Ino, focused on his task, didn't notice the true scope.

The rhythm didn't stay in the dormitory.

It spread.

First to the Slytherin and Hufflepuff basements. Then up, through the lower levels. Into the dungeons. Through the Potions office.

It kept rising.

Stone by stone, floor by floor.

By the time it reached the Great Hall and beyond, it had blanketed the entire school.

…

Atop the tower, in the headmaster's office, Albus Dumbledore's eyes snapped open.

The stars reflected in his irises.

For a moment, he simply listened.

Then he smiled.

Gellert had warned him this moment might come.

Dumbledore closed his eyes again.

And let it.