In the Slytherin common room, tucked beneath the lake's greenish glow, Ino flipped through the latest issue of Hogwarts Chronicles, a modest but increasingly popular student-published magazine.
"They've printed another run?" he asked, accepting the copy Draco Malfoy passed him.
"Had to," Draco replied, a smug little smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Can't leave the castle, remember? People need something to gossip about."
Ino nodded. For someone who rarely joined in idle chat, he found the magazine surprisingly engaging. It offered him a glimpse into the more chaotic side of castle life rumors, jokes, even bizarre theories. Hogwarts, as it turned out, had no shortage of drama.
As he flipped through the pages, chuckling at some of the more outlandish tales, a small headline near the back caught his eye.
"Collected Prophecies of Professor Trelawney"
Curious.
Technically, student publications weren't supposed to name professors unless they'd received explicit permission. Professor McGonagall had made that clear more than once, though it seemed Trelawney was the lone exception. No one ever got a howler or even a stern glance when she appeared in print. It was as if even the faculty had silently agreed: Trelawney's reputation was already beyond repair.
Still, Ino was intrigued enough to read on.
The article was short just a few "prophecies" supposedly uttered by the Divination professor. Most of it sounded like her usual dreamy nonsense: rainbows over tombstones, a sky of shimmering glass, sleepwalkers dancing with shadows.
But one phrase made him pause.
"The river runs rainbow once again, seen only by the one who sleeps with open eyes."
His brow furrowed.
To others it would seem like more of Trelawney's usual tripe, but Ino felt a chill run down his spine. The imagery, it matched something he had actually seen. A brilliant, prismatic river stretching across the valley, as if it had always been there, hiding in plain sight.
"Draco," he said, turning the magazine around and tapping the column. "Where did this come from?"
Draco leaned over, eyes scanning the passage. He frowned slightly, thinking.
"Hmm. I think it was Weasley," he said eventually. "Ron, I mean. He was going on about something to Creevey when I walked past. I didn't listen to all of it, but, hang on."
He crossed the room and opened a wooden cabinet crammed with notebooks, parchment, and an absurdly thick ledger. Flipping through it, he mumbled to himself.
Ino waited, arms crossed.
Most people wouldn't have thought twice about the article, but Ino wasn't most people. He had a nose for strange things and a history with them.
"Aha! Found it," Draco said, tapping a page triumphantly. "Ron Weasley. September sixteenth. Paid two Sickles for the article."
"Two Sickles for a Trelawney quote?" Ino raised an eyebrow.
"Exclusive info, apparently," Draco said. "Said only he and Potter knew about it."
Ino chuckled softly. "Hogwarts has no secrets, Draco. Unless you're whispering in the bathroom or buried under your covers, you're being overheard."
Draco nodded, reluctantly amused. "Yeah. Add a third person, and a portrait's listening in. Four people? The bloody armor starts walking over to join the conversation."
"Exactly," Ino said. "But sure, let's call it a Weasley exclusive."
"You think he lied to me?" Draco asked, not angrily, more amused than anything.
"No," Ino said, handing the magazine back. "I think he gave you the truth. Just maybe not all of it."
"Well, as long as he didn't cheat me," Draco shrugged. "I don't mind paying for honesty. Just not creative editing."
While Draco returned to double-checking the magazine's editorial costs, a habit prompted by Creevey's unexpected lecture on responsible budgeting, Ino returned to reading, eyes drifting back over stories of castle life, some light, some bizarre, all deeply Hogwarts.
Far above, the new issue of Hogwarts Chronicles was already being whisked away by owls, fluttering toward Hogsmeade, Diagon Alley, and who knows where else.
Time passed, as it always does.
By the last week of September, the tension caused by the werewolf scare had begun to ease. With fewer incidents and more pressure from within the school, the castle finally lifted its lockdown.
Sort of.
Students were now allowed to visit Hogsmeade on weekends again, so long as they were in fifth year or above and had a signed permission form from a guardian.
It wasn't freedom, but it was enough to lift the mood. Like the Prefect system, as long as the older students were content, the younger ones generally followed suit.
On that crisp Saturday morning, the first officially sanctioned Hogsmeade visit in weeks, Filch was already stationed at the gate by sunrise. Normally, students wouldn't take him seriously, but today was different.
Standing beside him was none other than Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody.
With his scarred face and magical eye spinning madly in its socket, even seventh-years behaved. No one dared joke or try to sneak through. They lined up, orderly as could be, while Moody inspected permission forms with a look that promised doom to anyone who tried to forge one.
Nearly every eligible student chose to leave the castle that day.
Except one.
Ino.
The only sixth-year to stay behind.
He'd woken early, dressed, and made his way to the hidden valley.
The last weekend of September coincided with the traditional Harvest Festival. Ino wasn't interested in pumpkin-themed snacks or floating lanterns. What drew him was something else, something waiting in the valley.
There, surrounded by a subtle shimmer of magic, lay a gift.
As the morning light intensified, the glow faded, and he could finally make out what had been hidden beneath it.
A robe.
Its design was oddly antique, like something from another era. The deep navy fabric seemed to hum with age and power, rich and refined in a way that felt eternal.
Next to it, not a wand, but two umbrellas.
One was painted with swirling, colorful patterns, almost childlike in its joy. The other was a stark contrast: jet-black, sleek, and heavy-looking.
"The Dream-Maker…"
His eyes widened slightly.
He knew that tale. A rare story passed around like a fairy tale among magical children. A mysterious figure who shaped dreams, wielding umbrellas instead of wands, capable of turning nightmares into stardust or rewriting the sky itself.
It all made sense now.
He'd been waiting for the moon, for stars, for celestial signs, but the gift had already arrived.
What were moonlight and constellations compared to the robe and umbrellas of the Dream-Maker?
Of course, in the story, they could only manipulate dreams. But this was the real magical world. Here, who knew what such tools could truly do?
He looked up again.
Above the trees, in the brightening sky, jewels hung like stars, tiny, glinting gems suspended in midair, shimmering with every color imaginable.
They glittered like someone had turned the night sky into a treasure box.
He smiled.
What better way to greet a new season than with enchanted umbrellas and a sky full of jewels?