Morning.
As the golden six-petaled tulip hanging high in the sky slowly unfurled its radiant bloom, the secluded valley awoke to a new day.
The first ray of golden light spilled into the quiet landscape like the gentlest of wake-up calls.
On the second floor of a quaint little tavern, nestled in a rustic guest room—
"Hermione, rise and shine!" Ino nudged the girl lying next to him.
Honestly, after their late-night snack, not much needed to be said. Everything that happened afterward… had felt completely natural.
"Five more minutes... I'm exhausted..." Hermione mumbled sleepily, burying her face deeper into the pillow.
And then—poof—her entire body transformed into a soft, silver-grey otter, curling into a tight ball as if that might somehow shield her from the trials of the morning.
Ino stared at the fluffy creature curled up on the bed and suddenly found himself at a loss for words.
To be fair, given her current... otter state, more sleep probably was the best course of action.
"Alright then. You rest. I'll get someone to cover for you." Ino stood, stretching lightly before turning to glance out the window.
Last night, he'd noticed something peculiar about the valley—a flaw that wasn't exactly a flaw. During the day, the sky featured that magnificent golden tulip sun. But at night… there were no stars, no moon. Just a blank canvas overhead.
A sky without starlight felt strangely empty.
Meanwhile, Hermione, nestled in her fuzzy sea otter form, was on the verge of drifting back into blissful sleep. The plush mattress had already washed away most of the fatigue from the night before.
But just as she teetered on the edge of slumber, her fluffy ears gave a sudden twitch—catching onto a word she hadn't quite meant to hear:
"Cover for you...?"
"...Did he say—ask for leave?"
Her eyes snapped open.
"OH NO! I'M LATE!"
The peaceful little room was immediately plunged into chaos. Sheets flew, a pillow hit the floor, and a confused squirrel darted out from under the bed for no good reason.
And just like that—Hermione was gone. The valley now one sleepy otter short.
Ino scratched his head, watching the whirlwind that had just left.
There was something about this whole situation that always left him a bit confused. Logically, the Valley and the Sanctuary were supposed to be two separate, disconnected spaces. The previous links should have been severed.
And yet… they weren't.
The two worlds still seemed to be subtly connected.
In his quieter moments, Ino had pondered why. Eventually, he'd come to a vague, unsatisfying conclusion: it might have something to do with the plants he had left behind in the Sanctuary—the ice blossoms and that red maple tree.
Perhaps, those rooted things had become… anchors. Coordinates, even. Something that tethered one world to another.
Of course, that was just a theory. He'd have to run a few experiments to be sure.
"…Find the stars and moon. And now I need to plant more trees too…"
He added that to his rapidly expanding post-holiday to-do list.
As much as he wanted to explore the treasures of this strange world, the real bottleneck was always time.
The Valley, ever since its transformation, allowed him to freely enter stories. But what about time flow? That was still a mystery. If it passed quickly here, as it had before, then all was well.
But if time dragged…
If he disappeared for another year or more—and with Voldemort still unhandled—who knew what kind of chaos would unfold?
Far away in London, at the Ministry of Magic, a similar tension was brewing.
The normally quiet Minister's Office was packed to the brim. All seven department heads were present, along with several members of the Wizengamot.
Cornelius Fudge sat stiffly on a leather sofa, eyeing his colleagues.
Everyone looked troubled—but Fudge, ever the seasoned politician, could tell how many of those frowns were genuine concern… and how many were just for show.
"You've all read the letter," he said flatly. "Let's hear your thoughts."
Until the situation became clearer, he had no intention of taking a firm stance. No one wanted to end up like the last Minister.
A sharp, firm voice broke the silence.
"He's blatantly violating the Statute of Secrecy. This is no longer just a domestic issue. I propose we inform the International Confederation of Wizards and mobilize our full resources—"
Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, had never been one for half-measures.
She hadn't even finished her sentence before the pushback began.
"Let's not jump to conclusions. The werewolf attacks have stopped, haven't they? And the demands from the other side weren't unreasonable. They want access to the Department of Mysteries and to explore ruins under our supervision. We can negotiate."
The voice came from Tiberius Ogden, a senior Wizengamot member and a staunch pacifist.
Unlike Amelia, Ogden believed in diplomacy. After all, the newly risen dark figure hadn't shown the reckless cruelty of the past. There was a method to the madness.
Reason, he argued, meant there was still room to talk.
Some heads nodded. No one here particularly wanted to risk their necks if there was another way.
"Negotiate? He's clearly searching for something. And if he doesn't find it—what do you think he'll do next?" Amelia shot back, voice rising. "You've seen what he's capable of."
"And what about Dumbledore—?"
"I still think negotiation is possible..."
The room descended into bickering again.
Fudge sat silently amid the rising voices, his expression unreadable, as if someone had hit him with a mild Petrificus Totalus.
Truth be told, he hadn't gathered them to seek advice. He just wanted to share the pressure. The louder the infighting, the less anyone would expect him to take action.
A cunning plan… if only the others weren't just as shrewd.
Ludo Bagman from the Department of Magical Games and Sports had dozed off entirely, snoring softly with a quill still tucked behind one ear.
Several others followed suit—eyes open, mouths shut, floating peacefully through the storm.
After a good twenty minutes of heated but repetitive debate, it became clear that only a few people were actually arguing, while the rest had opted for the political version of a power nap.
All eyes turned back to Fudge.
Cornered at last, the Minister stood with a stiff sigh and began his carefully crafted dodge:
"I believe… the end of the werewolf attacks is encouraging. Especially since the Muggle Prime Minister has already sent in a formal complaint…"
"And as for the rest… I think we should consult Dumbledore's opinion."
A masterpiece of noncommittal nonsense.
His words were met with a room full of stunned silence.
Some were too polite to scoff. Amelia was not one of them.
"Wait and see? Do nothing? That's your grand plan?!" she snapped, rising to her feet. "Fine! Just sit here and wait until another Dark Lord comes knocking at your door!"
Without another word, she stormed out, slamming the door behind her.
Her exit left a heavy silence.
But her final words had struck a chord.
No one—not even Fudge—had stopped to consider that maybe, just maybe, the mysterious figure wasn't playing by the old rules.
Everyone had assumed he'd align with Dumbledore.
Everyone had assumed he'd show restraint.
Like in Hogsmeade—he'd spared the civilians, followed the unspoken code.
But what if… he didn't?
What if he stopped caring about rules?
For the first time, the top brass of magical Britain imagined the worst-case scenario.
"Meeting adjourned!" Fudge barked, abruptly getting up. He wasn't going to wait for this storm to pass. He needed to ask questions. Fast.
Compared to the simple two-sided war of fifteen years ago, this three-way chessboard was something else entirely.
There were too many moving pieces.
Too many unknowns.
And far, far too many people pretending they had control.