Inside the Mechanical Magic office, Professor McGonagall finally took her leave after chatting for over an hour. When she departed, however, a faint smile had replaced her previous frown.
As the heavy wooden door clicked shut, Ino turned his gaze back to the window. Outside, the rain continued its steady, pattering descent.
As for the specific tasks of the Triwizard Tournament, he had no intention of getting too deeply involved. He was happy to offer suggestions, but the final decisions would always rest with the three headmasters. Seizing control would have been incredibly easy, yet just like his days as a student, he firmly believed in acting according to his role. There was simply no need to overshadow the hosts.
---
Time slipped away like fine sand through open fingers.
Ultimately, the first task of the Triwizard Tournament was scheduled for the sixth day after Halloween. This time around, the venue was not the Quidditch pitch.
While the pitch was certainly spacious, a mere Quidditch stadium was simply not enough to accommodate all the students, staff, and visiting foreign guests. This was not an exaggeration. Historically, due to its specific recruitment area and certain dark periods, Hogwarts did not boast a massive student population.
After all, the Book of Admittance only detected magical children born within the British Isles. Coupled with Voldemort's decades of terror, the overall enrollment at Hogwarts had historically fallen short of Beauxbatons.
Yet, as the saying goes, the winds of fortune are ever-shifting.
Once seen as somewhat isolated, Hogwarts had recently become the premier choice for many magical families across Europe. As mentioned before, no one in the wizarding world was truly a fool. When a brand-new academic discipline was established, anyone with sense could see its immense potential. Getting in on the ground floor during its formative years could easily turn a student into a founding pioneer of the field.
Beyond that, with Voldemort well and truly dead, the entire magical world had settled into a profound state of peace and harmony. It was as if, after a chaotic story had finally reached its conclusion, everything returned to tranquil normalcy. People were either resting and recovering or quietly laying the groundwork for entirely new tales.
During this era, a peaceful, ordinary life became the mainstream pursuit. And while life encompasses many things, starting a family is often central to it. As a direct result, the population of the new generation of wizards had skyrocketed.
---
Thinking of population booms and new generations naturally brought Ino's mind to that morning's newspaper.
Thanks to these peaceful years, the Daily Prophet had also learned to behave itself. Without any earth-shattering news to report, they were reduced to printing everyday trivialities.
However, one particular article titled The Future of England Belongs to the Weasleys had caused quite a stir. The piece was well-reasoned, full of character, vividly written, and ended on a perfectly placed cliffhanger. Upon seeing the byline at the very end, everyone immediately understood why. It was personally penned by the husband-and-wife duo of Gilderoy Lockhart and Rita Skeeter; it would have been a shock if it wasn't brilliant.
The core essence of the article was incredibly simple: it illustrated the staggeringly large population of the Weasley family.
The Daily Prophet had published a massive Weasley family portrait. Naturally, anyone looking at the paper instinctively began counting heads. Once they finished counting, however, a collective silence fell over the readership.
There were a grand total of twenty-six people, and that did not even include the ones currently on the way.
The seven Weasley children, their seven spouses, plus Arthur and Molly themselves meant there were sixteen adults alone. Then came the grandchildren: Bill's three, Charlie's two, Percy's three, and one each from Fred and George.
This sheer number was something most pure-blood families wouldn't even dare to dream of.
Arthur and Molly had spent half their lives being mocked by high-society pure-bloods for their poverty. But the wheel of fortune turns. In the latter half of their lives, the Weasley couple had viciously slapped the faces of every single detractor.
With twenty-six members now, who could even imagine what the Weasley clan would look like in another twenty years? The Daily Prophet piece, or rather Lockhart and Skeeter's masterpiece, had genuinely resonated with a vast number of readers.
---
"The future of the English magical world belongs to the Weasleys?"
Inside Malfoy Manor, Lucius slammed the newspaper heavily onto the coffee table.
"And you..." Lucius snapped, shifting his icy glare to the side.
He was just about to severely reprimand Draco for falling behind in the family-building department. However, the moment he caught sight of his granddaughter staring at him with her large, innocent, watery eyes, all the harsh words evaporated from his lips instantly.
"Lucy, come here and give Grandfather a hug," Lucius coaxed, his tone suddenly adopting a sickeningly sweet gentleness as he opened his arms.
Nearby, three-year-old Lucy stumbled happily into his embrace.
Draco sat quietly on the sofa, watching the heartwarming scene between grandfather and granddaughter. A gentle smile rested on his face, never once fading.
Unlike the bitter grievances of the previous generation, he held no particular animosity toward the Weasley family. Whether it was collaborating with Fred and George on business ventures or having Ron work at his publishing company after graduation, their interactions had generally been quite pleasant.
When considering what had catalyzed all these changes, a familiar figure suddenly surfaced in Draco's mind. Perhaps it was all traced back to that fateful summer when Ino brought him as a guest to the Burrow, paving the way for everything that followed.
Unbidden, a strange thought crossed Draco's mind. What if Ino had never attended Hogwarts, or what if he had never been sorted into Slytherin?
A second later, he chuckled at his own musings. This world simply didn't run on "what ifs."
---
Time flowed onward like a river. It was the sixth day after Halloween.
Bathed in the golden light of the morning sun, the castle looked strikingly majestic.
Today marked the first task of the Triwizard Tournament. Uncharacteristically, every single young wizard at Hogwarts had woken up bright and early. After hastily wolfing down a few bites of breakfast in the Great Hall, they poured out of the castle in droves.
This time, however, the crowd did not surge toward the Quidditch pitch. Instead, they all marched in the direction of the Whomping Willow.
Not far from the violent tree, roughly fifty feet away, stood a whimsical little wooden cabin.
The tiny house was clad in a mottled wooden exterior, its surface carved with delicate textures left by the passage of time. The roof was blanketed in a thick layer of green moss and dotted with wildflowers. Its windows were fitted with vibrant stained glass. Beneath the protruding window sills hung wind chimes crafted from various seashells, producing a crisp, melodic tinkling sound whenever the breeze swept by.
The door to the cabin stood wide open.
The young wizards had already formed a long, winding queue, filing into the structure one by one. They had been informed well in advance that the first task of the Triwizard Tournament would take place inside this very cabin.
"I reckon it must be a Portkey inside," someone muttered.
"Who knows? The whole thing feels entirely bizarre."
"I heard this cabin actually belongs to Professor Swinburne..."
Swinburne.
That name seemed to possess its own brand of magic. The moment it was spoken, all murmurs of doubt and skepticism vanished instantly. Within the long line, only eager discussions and wild speculations remained.
---
A short while later.
As the students crossed the threshold one after another, they discovered they had seemingly stepped into an entirely different world.
Before them lay a massive, oval-shaped open-air arena, easily several times larger than the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch. In fact, its grand scale closely resembled the stadium used for the Quidditch World Cup.
As everyone filed into the tiered, circular spectator stands, they realized something even more astonishing. Just beyond the arena lay a vibrant, bustling little town. Or perhaps, it was more accurate to call it a city without walls.
Looking through their Omnioculars, they could see that the town's architectural styles were wonderfully bizarre. There were treehouses, mushroom-shaped cottages, charming villas, and miniature castles. Strangely enough, despite the abundance of houses, not a single inhabitant could be seen on the streets.
This heavily modified pocket dimension of the Shrieking Shack was making its very first public debut.
---
Up in the stands.
Ino sat quietly in his designated seat. Beside him sat Colin Creevey, looking sharp in a tailored Muggle suit, and Draco Malfoy, who was dressed in elegant, vintage wizarding robes.
Listening to the gasps of amazement and excited chatter from the students around them, the three men wore knowing smiles. In a flash of nostalgia, they recalled how excitable they used to be during their own school days.
Colin, in particular, raised his ever-present camera and immediately began snapping away, the shutter clicking rapidly.
Both Colin and Draco's ability to return to Hogwarts for this event was entirely due to their professional status as the founders of Hogwarts Past Events.
What started as a magazine reliant on Hogwarts for its material had, over the years, steadily increased in both influence and sales. Now, with the Goblet of Fire bringing international attention back to the school, Professor McGonagall had generously granted Draco and Colin access right alongside the official reporters from the Daily Prophet.
Unlike the Daily Prophet, which merely covered stories without contributing a Knut to the school, Hogwarts Chronicles diligently paid the castle an annual venue rental fee of thirty Galleons.
When it came to knowing who truly supported the school, Professor McGonagall was always exceptionally clear-headed.