Every weekend's end is merely the prelude to a new week.
Whether those days were spent in frantic busyness or quiet leisure, what is past is past.
Monday evening arrived.
Hogwarts hosted another grand feast. The occasion was monumental: tonight was the night the Goblet of Fire would select the champions.
As the host nation, the British Ministry of Magic sent familiar representatives. Sitting at the High Table were Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, and the newly appointed Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation.
From the staff table, Ino looked toward the slightly aged Bagman, who returned a friendly nod.
Ino held a rather favorable opinion of the Head of Magical Games and Sports. Bagman was competent, possessed a sharp eye for opportunity, and knew how to read the room. The rapid growth and expansion of the "Film Mirror" over the years owed much to his active support.
Of course, no one is perfect. Bagman's fatal flaws were his greed and his irrepressible love for gambling. Even though the massive betting upset from the Quidditch World Cup in the original timeline had been averted, Bagman's fundamental nature remained exactly the same.
However, none of that concerned Ino.
After exchanging pleasantries with Bagman, Ino shifted his gaze to another old acquaintance at the High Table. It was Durmstrang's Headmaster, Igor Karkaroff.
Compared to Bagman, Karkaroff appeared even more slick and shrewd. Not only had he successfully evaded the Ministry's reckoning following Voldemort's ultimate downfall, but through a series of cunning maneuvers, he had also managed to securely retain his position as Headmaster.
Meeting Ino's gaze, Karkaroff offered an almost fawning smile.
Perhaps there truly were no fools in this world. Whether it was the Karkaroff of the original story, Lucius Malfoy and his wife, or countless others... Many seemed stubbornly committed to a dark path, but in reality, they often had no other choice. Deep-rooted animosities frequently cornered people into standing on opposing sides.
---
At half past eight.
As Professor McGonagall stood up, the lively Great Hall fell utterly silent.
After a long absence from the spotlight, Argus Filch once again carried the Goblet of Fire toward the High Table. The azure flames within the ancient wooden cup continued to burn steadily.
Suddenly, a phrase from deep within Ino's memories surfaced: passing the torch.
By then, Professor McGonagall had stepped up to the Goblet.
"An impartial selection! The champions from the three schools will be chosen fairly by the Goblet of Fire!"
As her voice echoed and faded, the entire Hall suddenly dimmed. The only source of illumination was the burning Goblet, radiating a brilliant, mesmerizing blue light.
Perhaps his mindset had simply evolved. Nowadays, when witnessing such grand, historic events, Ino maintained a detached perspective, completely devoid of any desire to meddle or cheat.
He did not care which of the three schools ultimately claimed the championship.
The fundamental reason the Triwizard Tournament had endured as a legacy for so many centuries was, perhaps, its inherent fairness. It was a simple truth. If any competition lost its fairness, it truly lost its reason to exist.
---
The feast proceeded in a smooth, orderly manner.
This time, the Triwizard Tournament went off without a hitch. There was no unexpected fourth champion.
Once the three selected champions entered the chamber adjacent to the Great Hall, the ordinary banquet truly began. An array of exquisite food appeared on the tables. While enjoying the delicious feast, everyone eagerly discussed the three newly chosen champions, their faces animated and voices buzzing with excitement.
Time flew by, fleeting and elusive.
A week passed in a blur.
Since the champions had been finalized, the castle's conversations over the past week constantly revolved around them. There was support, skepticism, and endless debates. The myriad of rumors and gossip seemed to echo endlessly down the stone corridors.
Amidst the passionate atmosphere of the castle, Ino quietly played the role of a spectator.
Once, upon first entering Hogwarts, he had firmly resolved to be just that, a true spectator. But born at the wrong time and driven by various external pressures, the storyteller was ultimately drawn into the story itself.
Things were different now. Whether in the magical world or the Muggle one, absolutely no one could dictate his thoughts or force his hand anymore.
---
A weekend dusk.
The sky hung in a hazy gray, and Hogwarts was gently blanketed by a fine, veil-like drizzle. The rain was dense and continuous, softly tapping against the windowpanes with a melodic, soothing rhythm.
Second Floor, Mechanical Magic Office.
Ino stood quietly by the window. His shadow was cast long across the floor by the warm orange glow of the magical lamps. The slender shadow seemed to blend seamlessly into the tranquility of the autumn evening.
Outside the castle, the Whomping Willow shed its leaves to the beat of the autumn rain. They spun and danced in the air before finally resting on the damp grounds.
It was a somewhat bleak scene, yet within that bleakness lay an indescribable peace and serenity.
Following the path of every falling leaf, a faint wave of nostalgia welled up in Ino's heart. He felt a lingering fondness for the years gone by, mixed with a quiet anticipation for the future. But mostly, it was nostalgia.
A gentle breeze slipped quietly through the open crack in the window, carrying the uniquely fresh and damp scent that follows the rain. The wind almost felt as if it possessed a mind of its own.
Feeling the breeze brush against his cheek, Ino took a deep breath of the cool air and instantly felt a profound sense of comfort.
The rain continued to patter down. In that moment, it seemed to transform into a wandering bard, telling the story of autumn in its own unique, rhythmic language.
Ino stood in the quiet office, listening to the rain and watching the falling leaves, content to be the autumn shower's very first listener.
However, not all worldly noise stays away forever. As the sky grew darker, a rhythmic knocking echoed through the peaceful room.
Knock! Knock, knock!
The story of the rain was interrupted, but Ino was not annoyed. He had already sensed the identity of his visitor.
---
"They are driving me absolutely mad! They want spectacle, they want fairness, they want entertainment, and they even want some sort of betting component..."
"Merlin's beard. I can understand fairness and entertainment, but I cannot fathom why a Triwizard Tournament needs a betting element!"
The moment she walked in, Professor McGonagall began to complain relentlessly.
Ino listened quietly to her grievances. He knew full well that none of this was her fault. After all, in the vastness of Hogwarts, there were very few people with whom Professor McGonagall could drop her strict facade and speak freely.
As far as he knew, over the past few years, only Professor Sprout, the Head of Hufflepuff, could chat with her without reservations.
In the past, Dumbledore had been there to shoulder the ultimate burden. Though Professor McGonagall was overworked back then, she did not face this crushing level of pressure. Now that she was Headmistress, the weight of the entire school rested squarely on her shoulders.
"I am just frustrated and speaking nonsense. I apologize for making you listen to my complaints." Realizing her outburst might have been unseemly, Professor McGonagall spoke with a hint of embarrassment.
"It is perfectly fine. It is much better that you let it out than keep it bottled up," Ino replied gently.
He truly did not mind her venting, and through her explanation, he had pinpointed the core issue.
"Professor, do you remember the obstacles the staff collaborated on twelve years ago, right when Harry first enrolled?"
Hearing this, Professor McGonagall paused, seemingly retrieving a memory from the distant past.
A long moment passed.
"Are you suggesting..." she asked, her tone shifting to one of curiosity.
"Exactly," Ino stated calmly. "We can reuse the trials that once protected the Philosopher's Stone."
He quickly outlined his idea:
The Winged Keys: Riding a broomstick to catch a flying key.
The Giant Board: Playing a high-stakes game of Wizard's Chess.
The Safety Net: "Leave the safety measures to me, but the methods the champions use to pass the trials can be highly diverse."
Since the Goblet of Fire had been reignited, he did not mind orchestrating a historical reenactment.
Bringing back the trials from twelve years ago felt like a perfect, poetic cycle, much like the final curtain call of a grand stage play.
Similarly, stirred by the faint nostalgia brought on by the autumn rain, Ino wanted to make up for a past regret. As someone who had originally stood outside the narrative, missing out on that first-year treasure hunt had always felt like lacking a crucial piece of the Hogwarts experience.
---
Author's Lore Note: The Wizengamot
The Wizengamot is the high court of law and magical parliament in the wizarding world. Its function combines the duties of a court and a legislative assembly, and its establishment actually predates the Ministry of Magic itself.
Trials are conducted in an interrogative format where the inquisitors ask questions, a court scribe records the proceedings, and the final verdict is decided by a show of hands from the Wizengamot members.
The Wizengamot currently consists of about fifty members, with the highest-ranking official holding the title of Chief Warlock. When attending trials, all members are required to wear plum-colored robes featuring an elaborate silver "W" embroidered on the left breast.