Time passed, steady and unyielding.
And under its watchful gaze, what once seemed like fleeting miracles slowly settled into something far more enduring - a legacy, a memory that refused to fade.
Three days had passed since Halloween.
Yet, in this short span, the entire wizarding world - starting from England and rippling out across the globe - had been turned upside down.
Yes, the entire wizarding world.
Perhaps it was tradition, or perhaps something deeper, but this time, the pure-blood families of the British Isles had put aside their usual caution and launched an unprecedented media frenzy. They had banded together to mass-produce Movie Mirrors.
Then, with almost reckless generosity, they sold them for next to nothing.
Inside those mirrors was the unfiltered footage of the Battle of Pilton Village - along with the most unexpected of finales: a sky full of fireworks.
Anthropomorphic houses and furniture charging into battle. The Killing Curse transformed into a colorful explosion. Voldemort reduced to a rain of candy.
The images weren't just surreal; they were shocking. And the entire magical community couldn't stop talking about them.
Scholars of every kind chimed in. Spell theorists, Transfiguration experts, and even magical ethicists took to wizarding journals and radio programs, raising questions that hadn't been asked in centuries.
Some even proposed reclassifying the Unforgivable Curses - suggesting that perhaps the Killing Curse no longer deserved its place among them.
After all, Voldemort's attacks, as seen in the footage, had looked more like a firework display than a deadly force of magic. Against this strange new resistance, even his power had seemed… laughable.
But the moment that idea surfaced, it was swiftly drowned out in a storm of outrage. Wizards and witches across the world pushed back hard.
Because regardless of what the footage showed, everyone knew one thing: magic like the Killing Curse wasn't just about effect, it was about intent. It corroded the soul. And no matter how ineffective it had looked that night, no one was eager to open the door to its legal use.
Especially not after seeing the madness in Voldemort's eyes, so clearly captured by the enchanted lens.
The debates continued to boil outside Hogwarts.
Inside, Ino found himself once again in Professor McGonagall's office, seated across from the stern but fair head of Transfiguration.
"I'm very sorry, Professor," he said, holding a letter that looked very much like an invitation. "This conference sounds incredible - really, it does - but I've already made plans to travel. Once I return, I'd be happy to participate."
McGonagall gave a slow, deliberate nod.
"I understand. I respect your decision."
She paused then, her brow knitting ever so slightly.
"But you're not… also planning to take a leave of absence, are you?"
Ino blinked. "Also take a leave?"
The way she'd said it made it sound like someone else had already done the same.
Truth be told, the idea had crossed his mind. These days, classes barely taught him anything new. More than that, there was the castle's strange atmosphere to consider - one he found suffocating.
Every hallway, every corner of Hogwarts, now buzzed with a kind of worshipful reverence. People didn't look at him anymore - they looked up to him. And that sort of pedestal always came with a gap: a distance, quiet and chilling.
Only time could close that distance.
McGonagall's sigh brought him back to the moment.
"I thought as much," she murmured. "Very well. Not that there's much more we can teach you at this point."
Her tone was bittersweet, tinged with both sadness and pride.
For a moment, she stared past him, as if seeing something only she could remember. Perhaps it was a memory from years ago - this very office, a much younger boy, all enthusiasm and wide-eyed questions, asking how to become an Animagus.
Sensing her mood shift, Ino offered a crooked smile. "Professor, I'm only going on a trip. You're acting like we're saying goodbye forever. I'll be back. And who knows? Maybe one day, we'll even be colleagues."
That got a laugh out of her.
"Ha! Well, if you do come back, I might be headmistress by then," she teased. "And rest assured, we'll have strict hiring standards. No frauds or drunks in my Hogwarts."
Ino chuckled along, but he nodded sincerely. "You'll make a brilliant headmistress. You always should have been."
The words weren't just flattery.
Yes, his name had been magically added to the Book of Admittance, and yes, the castle had acknowledged him. But he had no intention of becoming Dumbledore's successor.
Hogwarts owed Professor McGonagall that honor.
Half an hour later, Ino stepped out of the Transfiguration office with a signed parchment in hand. His official leave of absence was approved.
He moved quietly through the halls, but inside, he felt a gnawing guilt.
In all the chaos lately, he had neglected someone important - Neville.
From McGonagall's comments, he'd just learned Neville had also withdrawn from school.
The memory of a shy, round-faced boy, hiding behind a greenhouse and sniffling into his sleeve, flickered in his mind. That same boy had now taken a bold, decisive step, one that many would never dare.
People often claimed grades and classes didn't matter, but in truth, dropping out of Hogwarts was nearly unheard of.
The last known student to do it had become a world-famous magizoologist.
So for Neville to make such a move… he must've had good reason. And the fact that Ino hadn't noticed? That stung.
It was time to make good on a promise.
One he'd made long ago, at a dinner party in Malfoy Manor.
St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.
Founded by Mungo Bonham in the late 1500s, it was the only magical hospital in all of Britain. Tucked inside an abandoned Muggle department store, invisible to non-magical eyes, it tended to the hardest and strangest of cases.
Six floors, each more serious than the last.
On the top, a cheery tea room for visitors. Beneath, departments for object-related accidents, magical creature injuries, bizarre magical illnesses, potion and plant poisonings, and finally, spell damage.
Ino had never been here before.
But when he arrived and explained himself, the staff welcomed him kindly. One of the healers guided him to a private ward, where he was finally reunited with Neville.
Inside the room, Augusta and Frank Longbottom sat frozen in place on the bed, vacant-eyed and unmoving. If not for the slight twitch of their fingers, they could have been mistaken for statues.
Neville's voice was quiet and tight. "Ino… is there anything you can do?"
He looked like he was bracing for the worst.
Ino stepped closer and placed a hand gently on his friend's shoulder.
"Don't worry, Neville," he said softly. "They're just sleeping. I'll wake them up now."
And somehow, at that touch, Neville felt something… lift.
All his worry, his fear - it vanished in an instant. He didn't understand why. It simply melted away, as though the weight had never been real.
Ino raised his hand and opened a curious-looking umbrella.
Resurrection was beyond him. But healing a soul wounded by Cruciatus? That was different. And for that, sometimes, the best cure was a beautiful dream.
As the umbrella unfolded, a strange ripple spread through the hospital.
From the first floor to the fifth, magic shimmered in the air like morning mist.
And slowly, eyes began to open.
Patients who had been unconscious for days, weeks, even years - woke.
In a quiet valley, far from the castle and the crowds, Ino opened his travel trunk once more.
But this time, he wasn't leaving with just a wand and a few books.
Now he had a navy-blue hat perched smartly on his head, an enchanted two-foot umbrella at his side, and on his left ring finger, a gleaming ring crowned with a deep, blood-red gem.
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St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries
Founded by Mungo Bonham in the late 1500s.
Located in London, hidden inside an abandoned department store called Purge and Dowse Ltd.
Muggles cannot perceive it or enter.
Hospital Symbol: A bone crossed with a wand.