Harry Potter: The Bard of Hogwarts

As the most influential newspaper in Britain's wizarding world, The Daily Prophet had its gears turning at full speed—and it showed.

Outside Flourish and Blotts...

Ino had just arrived when he was stopped by a somewhat familiar face—Rita Skeeter, the ever-persistent journalist.

"Hermione, go ahead and buy the books without me. Don't forget my list, though," Ino said casually.

Hermione glanced between the two with a frown, clearly reluctant to leave him alone with the notoriously nosy reporter. After a brief hesitation, she finally nodded.

"All right, I'll go ahead."

She disappeared into the bookshop, and Ino turned to Rita with an easy smile. "Shall we talk over there? It's been ages since I had one of Fortescue's sundaes."

Across the street, the shutters of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour were being cranked open—a surprise, considering the place had been closed for the entire summer.

Rita's sharp eyes narrowed. She didn't comment on it, but it was hard not to notice the timing: the shop magically reopened the very day Ino returned. Opportunistic? Absolutely. But she couldn't entirely blame them—many Diagon Alley shops would likely reopen now that it was "safe" again.

Of course, none of that made it into her smile as she nodded. "Absolutely! Fortescue's was my childhood favorite too."

This part, at least, was true. Fortescue had been scooping ice cream for decades.

Inside the shop, which hadn't changed much over the years, they settled outside by the window. A makeshift table was set up on the cobblestone sidewalk.

Ino politely declined the offer of a sunshade and took a seat with a double scoop of blueberry ice cream. The end of August left the air fresh and damp from a recent drizzle—cool enough to enjoy a frozen treat without melting instantly.

He leaned back in his wicker chair, savoring a spoonful. "Ask whatever you need to. Once Hermione finishes shopping, I won't have much time left for this."

Rita sat across from him, visibly more cautious than usual. This wasn't the Rita Skeeter who barged into interviews with quills blazing. No, today she was hesitant—almost... respectful?

Ino noticed, but said nothing. He had granted the interview. What she did with it was her business. After all, a seasoned journalist like her should know how to handle a scoop.

He simply ate in silence, letting the sharp flavor of blueberry give way to the rich chocolate hidden underneath.

While Ino appeared relaxed, Rita was running mental marathons.

This wasn't like the Triwizard Tournament coverage. That had been about a rising star. This time, she was interviewing the man who had driven away the Dark Lord himself.

There wasn't a soul left in the wizarding world who didn't know his name.

The footage from Hogsmeade had been studied to death. Theories ran wild. Discussion groups had popped up. Some hired scholars to analyze the battle frame-by-frame.

The consensus? Voldemort had retreated.

Sure, the Killing Curse hadn't been used, but the sky had been thick with unnatural clouds, and the mysterious archers—those strange fighters—had done all the attacking while the melee forces stood still. It was clearly a coordinated effort, not a chaotic skirmish.

The archers, in particular, were compelling. They were the main evidence that the stormy sky wasn't just for dramatic effect.

Eventually, the analysts reached one unifying conclusion: Ino had held back. There were innocents below, and he hadn't wanted collateral damage.

That thought settled Rita's nerves. At least she wasn't interviewing a second Dark Lord—just someone who'd managed to beat one.

With her nerves steadying, her brain kicked back into gear.

"My interview will center around life and death. I hope that's acceptable?" she asked, pulling out her enchanted quill and notepad.

"Of course. Go ahead," Ino said with a nod, clearly satisfied with her approach.

Rita dipped the quill and got straight to it. "First question: How do you perceive death?"

"Death," Ino said, scooping up another bite, "is not the end of life, but merely the start of something new. What I did... was just a little nudge to redirect its course."

August 31, 1996

A Daily Prophet headline reading "Death is Not the End" exploded like a howler in the wizarding world.

The story took flight—over the English Channel, across the Atlantic—appearing in French, German, Austrian, and American wizarding publications. No one could resist reading it.

The idea of resurrection? It sent ripples through the magical world.

Ino Swinburne's name, absent from headlines for over a year, was suddenly on everyone's lips.

Bringing someone back from the dead—it was an idea too tempting to ignore. Even dark wizards were rumored to be poring over the article, thinking of loved ones they'd lost.

People grabbed their copies with trembling hands... and promptly slumped back in disappointment once they read the details.

The process required twelve vials of "pure time sand"—a substance so obscure that even the most knowledgeable wizards were baffled. Not to mention the need for a completely preserved corpse.

It was maddening.

The demands reminded some of another famous magical figure: Nicholas Flamel.

Back in 1436, Flamel had once revealed the ingredients of the Philosopher's Stone just to get rid of nosy researchers. A wave of failed attempts had followed. Some had even tried to steal the original.

But a man who lived nearly 700 years? That spoke volumes about how well he'd protected it.

While the rest of the world buzzed with theories and wild speculation, Ino was doing something far less dramatic: enjoying tea in the Granger family's garden.

"Twelve vials of pure time sand? You sure that's real?" Hermione asked, her brow furrowed as she put the paper down. "You'd better not be lying. That'd be really unethical."

"I'm not lying," Ino said with a shrug. "They just have to find it first."

He glanced at the newspaper again. He'd made that part up on the spot during the interview.

Twelve vials of time sand. Twelve black coffins. Virgin's blood to bind the ritual.

All taken from an old storybook he'd once read, tucked away in a tower in a different world.

If someone really did manage to find the materials, he wouldn't mind helping them out.

Hermione looked thoughtful. "So... it doesn't actually exist here?"

"Nope," Ino replied with a grin. "But if you're curious, you could always visit the Arad Continent sometime. That place is crawling with lost civilizations…"

He trailed off mid-sentence.

Hermione's parents were approaching from the house—Mr. Granger looked puzzled, while Mrs. Granger clutched a copy of The Daily Prophet, wearing a mixture of worry, post-traumatic relief, and the unmistakable expression of a mother who's just realized she's been lied to.

Ino glanced at Hermione. They locked eyes.

In that moment, they both realized what they had forgotten: wizarding parents could also subscribe to The Daily Prophet.

Whoops.