At Hogwarts, curfew officially began at 10:30 p.m.
That might sound generous at first glance, but in reality, it only applied to students in Fifth Year and above.
For those younger than Fifth Year, the curfew was an hour earlier—by 9:30, they were expected to be safely tucked away in their common rooms.
At precisely ten o'clock, Ino exited the Headmaster's office.
The castle at night was no longer filled with the usual noise and bustle. After all, more than half the students were already under curfew.
It had been two years since he'd left in Fourth Year. Now, back as a Sixth Year, this was the first time Ino experienced Hogwarts as an upperclassman.
The eighth floor—highest in the castle—sat level with the Ravenclaw tower.
Standing at the landing of the shifting staircase and looking down, it all felt oddly reminiscent of a Muggle university.
As students passed by below, many faces looked vaguely familiar, but their expressions… felt distant.
There was a subtle but undeniable gap between them.
Respect. Awe. A hint of fear.
It was the same castle. The same people. But somehow, the feeling from before had quietly faded away.
Just as that melancholy started to settle in, a deep, magnetic voice broke through the silence beside him.
"Feeling a little out of place?"
"A bit," Ino replied without turning. He already recognized the voice.
"It's normal," the voice continued. "A raven flying above the world, watching from the sky… is always alone."
The tone now carried a quiet note of empathy.
"Did something happen, Cho?"
Ino turned, meeting the gaze of Cho Chang—now a Seventh Year. She was no longer just the girl she used to be. She radiated a composed, mature beauty.
"I'm doing well. But you… you look like you don't belong."
She stepped up beside him, joining him at the landing to peer down. Though it was already ten, students still bustled about below.
That one sentence—like you don't belong—struck deeper than expected.
Truth be told, Ino did feel a little out of place since returning to Hogwarts.
And in that quiet moment, Ino began to understand Dumbledore.
He finally grasped why the legendary wizard was always playing childish pranks, sneaking candy behind the staff's back, or acting like an eccentric old man.
It was exactly as Cho said—loneliness.
A shattered dream. A broken friendship. A brother turned enemy...
Even after defeating Grindelwald with his own hands—after returning to Hogwarts draped in glory—Dumbledore still had to face those distant, reverent eyes from within the castle walls.
At that moment, Ino stood silently in the corridor of the eighth floor, gazing down at the stream of students.
Cho, ever the Ravenclaw, wisely chose not to say more.
Sometimes, the greatest wisdom… is knowing when to be silent.
Time passed slowly, second by second.
After a long pause, Ino finally muttered under his breath, "It's alright. Really. I won't act all whimsical and mysterious like he did… but I'll tell stories."
The years flowed on, each generation lasting about ten years.
This generation might see him with awe and distance—but the next wave of young witches and wizards?
They'd see something different.
After all, he had countless stories to tell.
By 10:30 p.m., Ino returned to the familiar comfort of his dormitory.
Even after a year and a half away, nothing had changed.
As he pushed open the door, the first thing he saw was a very spaced-out Draco.
Time had passed, and childish features had faded. Draco now looked like a younger version of Lucius Malfoy.
Well—aside from one glaring difference.
Draco's hairline was clearly starting to betray him.
"What's with you? You look like a deflated Bludger."
Ino walked into the room, removing his robe and casually hanging it on the rack behind the door.
The sudden sound startled Draco, who flinched—but when he saw who it was, he relaxed.
"You're back! That's great. I've been keeping all your old stuff polished and spotless. Everything's just like you left it."
Draco turned, and a flash of pride danced briefly in his eyes.
"Hahaha, thanks, my friend."
Ino caught that fleeting smugness and smiled. Even after all this time, that familiar feeling remained.
Time might pass, but Draco was still the same proud little wizard at heart.
He glanced over at the wind-up green alarm clock on Draco's nightstand, its second hand ticking gently in the quiet.
Familiar room. Familiar people.
So many memories, flowing like water—softly carving away at the stone of time.
Though it washed away the dust and debris, it also left behind the marks of life.
For a brief second, Ino was transported back to one particular afternoon in Second Year—
He had just finished classes and returned to the dorm to find Draco tinkering with that very same alarm clock.
The reason?
Apparently, having a clock meant no one needed to wake him up anymore, and that somehow bruised his ego.
"Spill it. What's going on?" Ino said lightly as he pulled a chair over and sat down. "You've never been good at hiding your thoughts—especially not with that face."
Maybe it was because he trusted Ino. Or maybe hearing his father's name brought something to the surface.
Whatever the reason, Draco didn't hold back.
"Ino… I think I've told you before. When I was little, my mother and I lived in a safe house…"
The memories flowed.
Draco spoke slowly, recalling things buried deep in his childhood.
Many details were lost to time, but the image of his father's exhausted, anxious face remained vivid.
"Yes… the Malfoy family chose the wrong side. After he fell, Father was always rushing around, trying to stay ahead of the Ministry's purge… trying to keep me and Mother safe…"
Draco's voice was calm, his words steady.
By the time the alarm clock's second hand had made ten full rotations, Ino had pieced together why Draco looked so lost.
"Draco… from a logical point of view, your father made the right choice," Ino finally said, his voice quiet but firm.
In truth, there wasn't anything wrong with Lucius's actions—not by any measure.
Especially after what happened fifteen years ago.
No one could've predicted that the Dark Lord, once so powerful, would fall so easily.
And fall to a woman. To a baby, even.
That shock alone had been a brutal lesson to many.
Given such precedent, Ino understood Lucius. Deeply.
And because he understood… he also knew there was nothing he could say to oppose it.
"Don't worry about it," Ino said, reaching out to pat Draco on the shoulder. "This year, just go home and enjoy a proper Christmas."
"Christmas?" Draco looked up, confused.
The sudden topic change threw him for a loop.
It took him a few seconds to catch up.
Then, as if a switch had flipped, his eyes lit up—and the gloom that had shrouded him lifted.
"Alright! Christmas it is! I'll even get you one of those limited-edition Quidditch figurines this year. Not the cheap kind either—the ones made from real goblin gold!"
"Hahaha! Deal." Ino chuckled and nodded.
Seeing Draco back to himself put Ino at ease.
Wizards didn't need to fear chaos or conflict. What they really had to watch out for… was their own overthinking.
Speaking of overthinking…
A certain black-haired Slytherin girl suddenly came to mind.
Pansy.
Ino made a note to find time to talk to her.
Even though they hadn't interacted much since Fourth Year, there were still things left unsaid.
And whatever those things were…
He intended to say them before graduation.
Let school-day matters end during school days.