Time, they said, was the most powerful magic of all—because it changed everything, quietly and without asking.
It had been a week since the attack on Diagon Alley.
Aside from the initial panic, things had settled down surprisingly quickly. No further werewolf activity. No more destruction. No ominous signs. And as always, the wizarding world began to forget.
People had short memories. That was true of Muggles and wizards alike.
But not everyone was so easily lulled into complacency. The smart ones, those with sense had either gone quiet or gone abroad. For a while, outside of Hogsmeade, magical Britain started to feel like a ghost town.
At Hogwarts, however, that bleak wind never quite made it through the castle walls.
With weekend trips to Hogsmeade suspended, the castle had become even livelier than usual on Saturdays and Sundays. The corridors buzzed with energy. Students clustered in corners, common rooms, and corridors, whispering conspiratorially like they were all sitting on some world-shaking secret.
In other words, it was a perfect weekend for the Gryffindors.
Without Fred and George Weasley, who had graduated and left behind a rather chaotic legacy things had quieted down a bit. But only a bit. There was, after all, a new Weasley in charge.
Ron sat in a deep armchair near the fireplace, his eyes scanning the room like a hawk. He wasn't spouting opinions about Ministry policy or Quidditch statistics like he used to, but he was definitely listening. Ears perked. Information had become a commodity, and Ron knew how to sell it.
Talking was free. Listening was profit.
Besides, he was a prefect now. Had to keep up appearances. No more yelling about Nargles or Chudley Cannons at top volume.
As the latest conversation thread fizzled out, Ron stood and made his way toward a quieter corner of the common room.
"Harry, you alright? You look like you've been hit by a Bludger. Go take a nap or get Madam Pomfrey to shove a Pepper-Up Potion down your throat."
Harry, who had been slumped on the sofa looking like he'd been living on ghost sightings and no sleep, lifted his head.
"I'm fine," he said, though his smile was more effort than effect. "And congrats, by the way. I bet today was... productive."
Ron gave a noncommittal shrug and let out a sigh. "Not really. Old gossip, mostly. The good stuff's drying up. Unless someone's desperate to talk, they'd rather take it to the magazine for a quick payday."
He was, of course, referring to Hogwarts: Behind the Portraits, the unofficial student-run tabloid that had exploded in popularity since the school shut its doors to the outside world. The editors had even started offering galleons for juicy submissions.
Ron had thought, very briefly about quitting school next year and managing one of the publication's Hogsmeade outlets. The sales were that good.
But then he'd remembered his mum.
That image alone was enough to freeze that particular career path in its tracks.
Harry, sensing Ron's frustration, leaned in.
"Alright then. I've got something. A little exclusive, just for you."
Ron blinked. "Go on."
Harry lowered his voice. "It's a prophecy. One of Trelawney's."
There was a pause.
"You're joking."
"I wish I were. She stopped me in the corridor last night. Said the stars had spoken. Or the curtains had moved. Or something."
"Let me guess," Ron said dryly. "The world's ending because someone didn't clean their cauldron properly?"
Harry grinned, but shook his head. "Worse. Try this: 'In a sky of seven colours, the root of darkness shall be turned to candy rain, falling from the heavens. Each who gathers the sweets shall be joyful for a day.'"
Ron stared at him.
Then, slowly, he repeated it: "'Candy rain'?"
Harry nodded.
Ron burst out laughing. "That's not a prophecy. That's a sugar-fueled fever dream!"
Harry leaned back with a sigh. "Even so. You're the one always digging for gold in the rubbish heap. Thought you might appreciate it."
Ron gave him a half-smile. "Only if it came with a chocolate frog and a fortune attached."
Both boys agreed silently: it wasn't even worth two knuts, let alone sending it to the magazine.
What neither of them realized, however, was that they were not the only ones who knew about it.
At Hogwarts, no secret stayed secret for long.
Elsewhere, deep in the Scottish hills, Ino sat alone in his favorite valley, sipping a strange green potion that smelled faintly of dandelions and old parchment.
Though the outside world was filled with tension, the little tavern he kept had become a quiet haven.
"I don't know what kind of mad quest you're on," he said with a calm smile, "but if you need these... don't hesitate."
He gestured toward the table, which was now covered in an impressive spread of small but well-crafted weapons: a short sword, a hand crossbow, several silver-edged daggers.
Across from him sat the famed Grimm Brothers, Jacob and Wilhelm, ready to leave once again for the mysterious story-world Ino had been trying to understand for weeks.
Jacob gave a regretful sigh. "They look amazing, but we're broke."
Ino waved him off. "They're payment."
He pulled a small seed from his pocket and handed it to William.
"I just need you to plant this when you get back. Don't worry about the rest."
The Grimm Brothers exchanged a glance, then nodded.
"Alright," William said, accepting the seed with curiosity.
Jacob, meanwhile, had already picked up the hand crossbow with something approaching reverence.
Ino chuckled. He'd crafted the weapons himself, more as a way to pass time than anything else. They were decent, reliable, but nothing extraordinary.
But maybe, just maybe, they'd be enough.
Fifteen minutes later, the brothers stood at the tavern door, fully armed and grinning like they were about to star in an adventure novel.
"When we finish this job," Jacob said cheerfully, "we'll have enough gold to buy land. I'll make you a proper lord, my liege."
Ino smiled and pushed the door open for them.
"Good luck. I'll be waiting."
The moment the brothers crossed the threshold, the lush valley outside shimmered, darkened and turned into a forest of twisted shadows and flickering malice.
Ino's breath caught.
Time hadn't changed here.
And that, more than anything, confirmed what he'd suspected.
Two different worlds. Two different timelines. One shared thread.
As the brothers disappeared into the shimmering dark, the forest faded like an old film reel, returning the hills to their peaceful green.
Back in Gryffindor Tower, Harry had just finished relaying the last of the prophecy.
Neither he nor Ron believed it. Trelawney was known for her flair for drama and, let's be honest, nonsense.
They chuckled about it for a bit longer, then moved on.
But someone else hadn't.
Despite having only happened last night, the "prophecy" had already slipped through the cracks of Hogwarts' invisible rumor mill.
And Hogwarts, as always, had ears everywhere.
Meanwhile, Ino wandered deeper into the valley, the silence soothing after a day of farewells.
He walked without purpose for a while, simply breathing in the crisp, magical air.
Then he stopped.
Three oak trees stood before him tall, old, and unchanged. Except one now glowed faintly, its leaves silver-edged under the dimming light.