Inside the train's private compartment, as the conversation drifted toward the topic of Prefects, Ino couldn't help but recall that magazine Draco had once run.
Maybe it was due to budget cuts—or something else entirely—but for such a grand castle, Hogwarts was shockingly understaffed.
That, perhaps, was why the Prefect system had endured for so long.
Starting from fifth year, each House elected one male and one female Prefect annually. Among the four Houses, this meant 24 student leaders in total, from whom two were chosen as Head Boy and Head Girl.
Having this army of Prefects helped take a huge load off the professors' shoulders.
On one hand, there were faculty who didn't get paid extra for extra duties. On the other, there were students enjoying the privileges that came with the title. Honestly? It was a win-win situation—free labor meets student power trip.
While there was no salary involved, the perks were very much real.
Take the exclusive train compartments, personalized Prefect badges, or the House-specific bathrooms. All that glamor gave young witches and wizards plenty of reasons to crave the title—even if it meant babysitting first-years and chasing down hallway snoggers.
Toward the front of the train…
In a half-empty carriage sat about twenty or so students, scattered about.
Ron Weasley leaned back on the soft leather seat, proudly wearing his new robes. His chest practically glowed with the shine of a meticulously polished Prefect badge.
He was, frankly, quite content with life at the moment—his family was doing well financially, he held the honor of being a Prefect, and he'd even found love. What more could he ask for?
His moment of introspection, however, was cut short by a familiar voice beside him.
"What are you thinking about?" asked Colin Creevey, now a freshly appointed fifth-year Prefect himself. He leaned in with an almost unnerving amount of curiosity.
Ron chuckled, not minding the interruption. "Nothing much—just… feeling kind of happy with life."
It wasn't much of a confession, but it was sincere.
Besides, even if he was annoyed, he wouldn't dare show it. Not to this particular student.
After all, Colin Creevey wasn't just any kid with a camera anymore—he was now Deputy Editor of Hogwarts Chronicles magazine. And without Colin's help, Ron wouldn't be sitting here in new robes, or wielding a brand-new wand.
"Good to feel happy, but don't forget your responsibilities," Colin said with a sage nod, patting Ron's shoulder like an old boss encouraging a fresh recruit. "We're thinking of expanding the magazine to an off-campus branch this year. You'll be graduating soon—if you perform well, you might be the one to head it."
Now, normally it might've looked ridiculous: a fresh-faced fifth-year giving motivational speeches to a visibly older student. But Ron didn't find it demeaning at all.
In fact, he found it… kind of inspiring.
But as the buzz faded, a more serious thought crept in. He glanced nervously toward the platinum-blond student sitting near the window—Draco Malfoy, who hadn't said a word the entire time.
"Colin… does he know about this?"
Ron's voice lowered. Sure, Colin might be Deputy Editor, but everyone knew who the real boss was.
"You mean Draco?" Colin raised an eyebrow and gave a small, amused smile. "You don't have to worry. Business is business. No one's going to bring personal feelings into it."
He paused, then added slyly, "Of course, if you can't handle the job…"
"I'll do it," Ron cut in, maybe a little too fast.
Interrupting was rude, sure, but this was an opportunity he couldn't pass up. If he could afford new robes and a wand just by writing gossip and stories, imagine what running an entire branch could bring.
The future looked delicious.
Near the window, Draco remained silent, even though he'd clearly heard his name.
He wasn't in the mood.
His thoughts kept circling back to the last conversation with his father before term started. And unlike his younger self, who'd blindly accepted whatever Lucius said, this time... he felt something heavy, something off.
Why was his father still so stubborn? The entire world had shifted, and yet the Malfoys still clung to the same path as if nothing had changed.
His mind was too clouded for school politics.
Time, as always, slipped by unnoticed.
Before sunset, the Hogwarts Express arrived at Hogsmeade Station.
Students took boats and carriages to the castle. And when they gathered in the Great Hall, it marked the official beginning of a new school year.
Inside the hall, Professor McGonagall entered briskly, followed by a nervous flock of wide-eyed first-years.
It felt like déjà vu—another year, another group of kids terrified of hats and destiny.
Despite the faint signs of age on her face, McGonagall's energy was undiminished.
"When I call your name, please come forward."
Her voice rang out with that unmistakable authority, and thus, the 1996 Sorting Ceremony began.
During the Welcome Feast, Ino felt several lingering stares.
He wasn't the only one being observed—Hermione was getting her fair share too.
Not that it bothered him. People were naturally curious, especially when they weren't satisfied with official interviews. The Daily Prophet had answered most of the questions already, but that didn't stop people from whispering.
After all, why read facts when you can run on rumors?
Eventually, Ino set down his utensils. The feast was drawing to a close anyway.
As the students began following the Prefects to their common rooms, Ino made a quiet detour—up to the eighth floor.
"Long time no see, Headmaster."
He stepped into the familiar circular office, his greeting crisp and respectful.
"Indeed, long time no see," Dumbledore replied warmly, setting aside a small candy he'd just picked up.
"I must admit, I thought you'd vanish like Severus does—but your visit is a pleasant surprise."
The old wizard stood, smile twinkling, and walked to the lone storage cabinet in the room.
Several candy trays were brought out with a flick of his wand, but Ino didn't bother with small talk.
"Professor, are the two Horcruxes still safe? I'm thinking of taking action soon. Letting them linger is… dangerous."
That was the real reason for his visit—he needed to ensure nothing had gone wrong with the Horcruxes.
"Of course. I've kept them very safe," Dumbledore said serenely, as if he'd been expecting this all along.
And with a simple gesture, two dark artifacts floated out of the drawer: Marvolo Gaunt's ring and Helga Hufflepuff's cup.
"I trust you with them."
Dumbledore didn't so much as glance at the ring again—not even at the legendary Resurrection Stone embedded within it.
That struck Ino as odd.
Not the trust—that he could understand. But the indifference toward the Stone? Especially after what had happened with Hermione?
"Surprised?" Dumbledore smiled gently, almost mischievously. "Actually, after you left, I paid Gellert a visit."
"Oh?" Ino's brow raised. He hadn't meant to blurt that out—it just slipped, especially after all the reflection he'd done on divination and prophecy earlier.
"My apologies, if it's private—"
"No need," the Headmaster waved it off. "Though perhaps we can talk about our dear friend Tom instead. His strategy was… impressive."
Dumbledore's eyes drifted, distant for a moment, as if reliving a memory.
"Yes," Ino agreed. "Who'd have thought there were no final Horcruxes to begin with?"
To think that Voldemort relied on the idea of Horcruxes while never actually making one… and even cast enchantments to disrupt divination and conceal the truth.
It was a masterclass in manipulation.
But he hadn't accounted for the enchanted crystal ball hidden in the fairytale book—the one that blew his whole illusion apart.
"Tom always had a way with people," Dumbledore muttered, almost fondly. "He understood fear. Control. The illusion of safety."
"And yet, all that planning unraveled from one little prophecy," Ino smirked.
Now that the trick had been uncovered, Voldemort no longer had a psychological edge. No one could ever find something that didn't exist—and that was exactly what he'd bet on.
But now?
The bluff had been called.
Dumbledore's expression turned sharp.
"Shall I accompany you? I may be over a hundred, but I've still got some use left in me."
"You're welcome to come," Ino replied casually. "I could use someone to hold the Pensieve cam."
Truthfully, he didn't mind the help.
He was more curious about Voldemort's face when the truth came crashing down. Would he still smile with fake calm, nibbling on toffees, pretending to be ten steps ahead?
That alone might be worth the trip.
As he reached for one of Dumbledore's candies, he found it still tasted just as sweet.