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Chapter 384: The Mysterious Mill and the Tavern Venture
🕑 Added 2025-06-09 07:27:27 +0000 UTCSlytherin Dormitory
With Draco's concerns finally put to rest, the atmosphere in the Slytherin dorm returned to its usual, cool, composed normalcy.
"Get to bed already! We've got classes tomorrow!"
As the clock struck midnight, Ino quietly drew his bed curtains shut. Lying back on the familiar softness of his mattress, a wave of calm washed over him.
Telling Draco about the Christmas plan hadn't been an offhand decision. It had been a carefully discussed arrangement made after the Feast—with Dumbledore, no less.
Yes. Voldemort had already been dealt with before Christmas. The three-month delay afterward? That had been Dumbledore's request.
A request, not an order.
Even though Snape had handled things discreetly, Dumbledore could see through what others could not—especially Harry's condition.
"I'll ask about it tomorrow," Ino muttered to himself, sighing. "If I can help, I will... Some things shouldn't be left too long."
Meanwhile...
While Slytherin was bathed in peaceful silence, the Gryffindor girls' dormitory was anything but.
Despite being the sixth-year dorm, the room was packed with students from various years. Most of them had gathered for one reason—and her name was Hermione.
After all, it wasn't every day someone got hit by the Killing Curse, turned into a ghost, and came back to life in front of the entire school in a blazing golden glow, soaring into the night sky like a divine shooting star—only to reappear, flesh and blood, a year and a half later.
Resurrection wasn't just rare. It was legendary.
Unlike Ino, whom people respectfully feared and thus kept their distance from, Hermione was swarmed—utterly surrounded.
"Tell us again what it felt like being a ghost!"
"What did you see in the sky?"
"Was it the afterlife? What's it like?"
The questions came like a rapid-fire spell barrage, and Hermione—massaging her temples with a sigh—was exhausted.
"I've already told these stories like twenty times," she muttered under her breath.
"Yeah, and this is just Gryffindor," Ginny whispered at her side, noting the rapidly growing crowd. "Imagine when the Ravenclaws show up."
"I know!" Hermione whispered back. "But what am I supposed to do?!"
She looked around at the jam-packed dorm. Girls filled every inch of space, even sitting on the floor and leaning on beds. Those too far from Hermione simply gossiped among themselves in excited, noisy clusters.
"I've got an idea," Ginny leaned in, grinning mischievously.
"Alright! Everyone listen up!"
Ginny—barefoot, bold, and brimming with authority—stood tall on her bed. Her voice rang across the room, finally managing to silence the buzz.
Next to her, Hermione stood up as well.
"I know everyone's curious about my... whole experience," she began. "But honestly, retelling it over and over... it's not ideal. Most of you can't even hear the full story properly!"
The girls at the back nodded enthusiastically—they couldn't hear a thing through the crowd.
"So," Hermione continued, raising her voice slightly, "I've decided to write it all down. A proper book. It should be ready by summer holidays."
Fifteen minutes later, the dormitory was back to a manageable chaos level. Only the original sixth-years remained.
"That was genius," Parvati said, pulling on her pajamas. "Now they won't keep harassing you like it's a press conference."
The scene would've looked scandalously chaotic to an outsider, with girls chatting and changing into nightclothes in close quarters—but everyone here was used to it.
"Agreed," Lavender Brown nodded. "But now—sleep. I still plan to retake my O.W.L.s this year."
Hermione crossed her legs on the bed and gave a soft sigh. "Yeah, time to rest."
The curtains were drawn shut.
Hermione should've been exhausted—but her mind was racing.
Images danced behind her closed eyes—flashes of the dreamlike forest, the feel of warm feathers, and a silver otter snuggled up with a black swan. Two creatures curled together through winter, their breath warming the air between them.
"Honestly…"
She rolled over again, sighed—and vanished.
At the same time...
Ino had just slipped into light sleep when a tug in his soul pulled him awake. His eyes snapped open, instinct responding to a presence.
Early September in the Scottish Highlands was chilly—but not too cold.
Still, Hermione's choice of pale blue sleepwear was on the breezy side. Simple, elegant, and—due to the weather—cut slightly on the shorter side.
The pale color made her skin look even more delicate in the moonlight, like the soft touch of an autumn breeze.
She leaned against the wooden doorframe of the small valley tavern, her figure lazily outlined by the glow inside.
No effort, no posing—just someone who looked like she'd wandered out of a dream and hadn't quite woken up yet.
"I couldn't sleep," she said softly as Ino approached.
Her voice was gentle and airy, laced with the sleepy pout of someone mildly annoyed at the concept of bedtime.
"Want a Dreamless Sleep potion?" Ino offered groggily. His brain was still stuck halfway between the real world and dreamland.
"I make those," Hermione replied, pressing her lips together in mock annoyance.
"Oh... right," he chuckled, finally starting to wake up. "What was I thinking? Offering a potion to a future Potion Master..."
"Anyway, are you hungry?" Ino changed the subject, brightening up. "Perfect time to test the magic mill!"
He sounded a bit too proud of that sentence.
The enchanted mill had been a surprise gift during last year's Harvest Festival—and oh, what a gift it was. Put in dirt, sand, or even plain water, and the mill would turn out exactly what the user envisioned.
Fresh flour, ripe fruit, golden honey, creamy milk—you name it.
Basically, a one-appliance version of the Room of Requirement.
And now, Ino was hoping this year's festival would bring something just as bizarre and wonderful.
Hermione blinked.
Then looked down at herself.
Then realized one of the top buttons on her nightdress had come undone during her tossing and turning.
Her expression turned... complicated.
"…Fine. Midnight snack it is."
Thirty Minutes Later
Inside a cozy little tavern, Hermione sipped freshly squeezed juice and admired the space.
It was small—maybe just over a hundred square meters—but the ambiance was magical.
Under the warm, amber lighting, the tavern felt timeless. The walls were stone, framed with dark wooden beams that creaked ever so slightly in the silence.
A long oak bar stood in the center, embedded with brass fixtures that gleamed faintly. Surrounding it were high-backed wooden chairs and quaint round tables, perfectly mismatched.
Paintings lined the walls—sunrises, rain-drenched streets, vast oceans, quiet meadows. Each one captured a moment in time so vividly, they felt like doorways to another world.
In the corner stood an upright organ and an antique phonograph, standing like time-traveling relics from different eras—creating a curious harmony in their dissonance.
"Ino," Hermione said suddenly, looking around with shining eyes, "let's try it. Let's run the tavern. Welcome guests. Hear their stories."
That glint in her eyes was unmistakable—Gryffindor genes fully activated.
She had been itching to try it ever since Ino first explained the tavern's magic. A bar that could attract characters from across time, space, and story? Who wouldn't want to run that?
Ino raised a brow.
"We'll do it on the weekend," he said flatly. "Unless you want to skip class tomorrow."
Time inside the valley passed just as it did in the outside world—a detail Ino had confirmed long ago. That's why he hadn't opened the tavern yet. Originally, he had planned to wait until after Voldemort was dealt with.
But Hermione's interest had lit a new spark. Plus, with Dumbledore's recent request… maybe it was time.
"No skipping," Hermione replied instinctively.
"…Weekend it is, then."
She smiled. "Let's see who'll be the first guest."
Clearly, as tempting as it is to satisfy her curiosity, the O.W.L. exams take priority.
