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Chapter 370: Time Passes, Hermione Transforms
🕑 Added 2025-05-22 16:06:13 +0000 UTCNight had fallen.
A luminous full moon hung high above the treetops, casting a gentle glow that bathed the world in silver. The river, still and glassy, shimmered like it had been draped in a veil of light gauze—dreamy and mysterious.
A cool breeze swept past, carrying with it a crisp freshness and a faint fragrance.
The scent of reeds mingled with hints of burdock, morning glories, and blooming cosmos flowers.
On either side of the riverbank, the vegetation swayed gently with the wind, producing a soft rustling sound—nature's own lullaby.
…
Beneath a dense patch of reeds on the riverbank, a graceful black swan was nestled atop a cushion of dry grass. Curled up beside him was a petite sea otter with silver-and-grey fur, sleeping soundly, her paws twitching slightly in her dreams.
Hermione lay atop the grass pile as well, enveloped in warmth and softness from her two companions.
Her eyes were closed, but her mind was busy replaying everything that had happened over the past few days—from the moment of death to the shock of rebirth, each scene flashing through her thoughts.
It still felt surreal, even though she knew it was all real.
But today, after getting into a full-blown shouting match (and an actual scuffle) with a flock of ducks, it all started to feel... solid.
That, she thought wryly, was what being alive felt like—loud, messy, and impossible to ignore.
As she drifted off on the grass mound, the sea otter reached out with a tiny paw and gently poked the black swan's downy feathers before snuggling closer and sinking into sleep.
…
Dawn broke. The rising sun painted the land in a warm golden hue.
Its soft radiance lit up the magical world, and sleepy animals began to stir and stretch.
Well—everyone except Mr. Owl, of course. He fluffed his feathers and headed into his tree hollow, ready to begin his version of "bedtime."
The quiet lake slowly came back to life.
Swans claimed the best real estate in the center of the water, while the ducks, as usual, were exiled to a less glamorous corner—quacking in protest.
But today was a little different.
A sleek black swan paddled across the lake's surface with a silver-furred sea otter perched beside him.
"Ino," Hermione asked curiously as she swam along, "what do swans normally eat? I mean—besides bread crusts from tourists. Odette's always hungry."
"Odette" was the name she'd given to the scrappy little duckling they'd adopted—a nod to the white swan princess from Swan Lake.
"I'm not sure what Odette eats, but I know what swans eat," came a melodic, graceful voice.
Startled, Hermione turned around to find a dazzlingly beautiful white swan floating beside them.
Her plumage was as white and fluffy as fresh snow. Her beak, a vivid crimson, reminded Hermione of a blooming rose. She held her neck in that signature elegant S-curve that only swans and ballerinas seemed to master.
"Sorry to eavesdrop," the white swan said politely. "But word spread yesterday that a charming black swan gentleman had arrived in the area. Naturally, I had to come say hello."
She then blinked apologetically. "Oh! And my apologies to you too, Miss Otter. I didn't see you there. I do hope you're not offended."
The otter in question tilted her head innocently, expression blank. Hermione wasn't sure why, but that voice made her think of fancy English breakfast tea.
"I'm not offended," Hermione replied crisply, "but I also don't like being interrupted."
She then shot a meaningful glance at Ino, silently saying: Back me up here!
Being a sea otter and universally ranked in the top five of "most adorable animals," tilted her head even more, letting her natural cuteness do the talking.
"As you can see," Ino said, wrapping a wing protectively around the sea otter's head, "my friend isn't fond of uninvited guests."
Without another word, the two of them gracefully turned and swam off toward the opposite bank.
"Swans are omnivores," Ino explained casually over the gentle lapping of water. "They eat small fish, clams, aquatic plants, and berries—basically whatever's available."
"Then let's go ashore and pick some fruit for Odette!" Hermione's eyes lit up as she looked toward the lush forest that bordered the river.
"Great idea!" Ino agreed. Truth be told, he'd been curious about the forest's residents too.
And when it came to animal tales with a touch of whimsy, nobody did it better than Hans Christian Andersen.
From the Ugly Duckling to the Elder-Tree Mother, from Thumbelina and the Rose Elf to the Nightingale and even the Real Phoenix…
There were far too many to count, each more charming than the last.
…
Swans, of course, held a special place in the world of fairy tales.
They were often portrayed as noble, mysterious, and proud—but never villainous. Even in the Ugly Duckling's tale, the swans never mocked or harmed him. At worst, they gently encouraged him to move on.
And in reality, swans had one of the longest development periods among waterfowl.
Depending on the species, they could take 18 to 24 months—at least a year and a half—to fully mature.
But in the tranquil world of animals, time flowed differently.
When the cicadas' song blended with the cricket's hum, everyone knew that summer was quietly fading away.
…
Autumn arrived.
The forest trail had shed its vibrant green and now lay blanketed in golden leaves, forming a soft, rustling carpet beneath their feet.
Flaming red maple leaves clashed boldly with the golden fan-shapes of ginkgo trees. Only the stoic pines and cypresses remained defiantly green.
In the woods, a sea otter now lounged comfortably among a group of squirrels, sharing a stash of freshly gathered nuts.
It should've looked strange, but somehow it felt perfectly normal.
Ino sat nearby, watching Hermione chat with the squirrels, a faint smile on his beak.
Without realizing it, they had already spent more than half a year in the forest—through the vibrant bloom of spring and now into the bountiful days of fall.
This peaceful life had a kind of magic all its own, and Ino found himself reluctant to leave it.
More than that, he finally understood what Professor Hans had intended: this time wasn't just for Hermione's recovery—it was for his as well.
For months, he had lived like a swan. No magic, no spellcasting. He hadn't even opened his magically-extended suitcase.
And yet, paradoxically, his magical reserves had grown stronger—refined, nourished, and crystal-clear.
Standing among the rustling trees, bathed in the golden light of autumn, Ino felt an unfamiliar but welcome feeling tug at his heart.
He smiled.
When was the last time he'd smiled like this—freely, often, and without a hint of the icy aloofness his magic had once imposed?
That wintry aura had faded long ago.
But strangely, his magic—especially his bloodline's power—hadn't diminished. In fact, it had only grown deeper, more potent.
Ino slowly lifted his head and looked up at the crystal-clear blue sky.
For a moment, just a moment, he felt as though he could call winter itself—summon true snow and frost, not by forcing the elements, but by simply allowing them to arrive.
…
"Still daydreaming and grinning like a dope?" Hermione's voice jolted him back.
She leapt down from a tree branch and patted the distracted swan.
"C'mon, let's go! We've got enough nuts to last us through winter—no starving this time!"
She chattered away, carrying a bundle made from stitched-together leaves on her back. It jangled with every step.
Ino watched her, a strange warmth bubbling in his chest.
That little bundle of forest-foraged supplies reminded him of something.
Back when he used to read fortunes outside an elementary school, he'd tied broken wind chimes to his canvas bag—just for fun, just for sound.
Something about it felt right.
Something about this whole life… felt right.
