Seven.
It had always been a number wrapped in mystery.
Not just in the realm of magic and the arcane, but even in philosophy and mathematics, seven held a peculiar weight.
Pythagoras, one of the most celebrated thinkers of ancient Greece, once claimed that seven represented the "unwedded maiden." Why? Because it belonged to neither the even nor the odd, it stood apart, indivisible, drawn directly from the peak of unity.
And in the wizarding world, seven is practically sacred.
Seven Horcruxes. Seven Weasley children. Seven years at Hogwarts. Even the original protection of the Philosopher's Stone involved seven enchantments set by seven professors. Harry Potter himself was born in the seventh month.
Coincidence? Perhaps. But only if you haven't been paying attention.
Even the smallest details whisper the number's importance. Alastor Moody's magical trunk had seven locks in a row. The secret platform, nine and three-quarters - adds up to seven when you combine the numerator and denominator. Subtle, but ever-present.
Skeptics might say this was all the author's doing, a clever bit of storytelling.
But Ino disagreed. Especially after meeting the Brothers Grimm and Hans.
Storytellers rarely have full control over where a story goes. Hans was a perfect example. That manuscript of his, written in alternating red and blue ink - had long since hinted that there was something deeper going on.
Ino had come to believe that the appearance of the number seven wasn't the work of the storyteller, but the story itself, shaping its own destiny.
…
It was early October. The Scottish Highlands had settled into a chilly fifteen degrees, blanketing Hogwarts in a comfortable autumn hush.
The sun dipped low on the horizon, spilling golden light over the ancient castle and wrapping everything in a soft, nostalgic glow.
High above, at the top of the Astronomy Tower, a modest wooden table stood quietly under the open sky. A fresh pot of steaming red tea rested upon it, the curls of vapor dancing in the cool air. Nearby sat a small plate of glossy toffee fudge, glinting like treasure in the dying light.
It was a picture of peace. A world away from trolls, curses, and rampaging basilisks.
The sky itself looked like it had been painted, fiery orange streaks across a canvas of fading blue. The kind of view that made you feel like something important was about to happen.
Down below, the silhouette of the castle stood majestic and unwavering. In the distance, two little cottages puffed gentle trails of smoke into the twilight. Hagrid's hut was still there, though now joined by a slightly more paranoid-looking second cottage, Moody's place, of course.
Closer to the castle grounds stood the Whomping Willow, stripped of its leaves, its bare branches swaying gently like a sentinel guarding a forgotten secret. It looked older, yes, but still just as stubborn as ever.
Beyond that, the Black Lake shimmered in the dimming light, reflecting clouds the color of fire. A few owls soared lazily across the horizon, disturbing the silence in the best possible way.
…
At the top of the tower, Ino took a slow sip of his tea.
It had been seven years.
Seven years since the world had changed. Hogwarts still looked like it had in 1991, but the students wandering its halls were new. The faces had changed, but the heart of the castle beat on.
Over those years, there had been plenty of minor incidents, but nothing catastrophic. The most serious was probably the werewolf purge six years ago, a joint effort between the Muggle government and the Ministry of Magic.
People always made werewolves out to be unstoppable monsters. But when you throw them up against trained Aurors, they're not quite so terrifying. Even Muggle firearms didn't help much when a simple Shield Charm could block most of them.
Previously, the biggest issue was the risk of lycanthropy spreading. But with the development of an effective wolfsbane-based antidote, there was no more hesitation. Once that barrier was gone, the Ministry moved swiftly and decisively.
The brains behind that miracle cure? None other than Hermione Granger.
Her contributions earned her the First-Class Order of Merlin, the youngest witch ever to receive it. As if that weren't enough, she also secured a seat on the Wizengamot, becoming its youngest-ever judicial member.
And that was just one of many milestones.
In the last seven years, Hogwarts had introduced a new elective: Magical Engineering. McGonagall, now Headmistress, had finally accepted the post after Dumbledore's departure three years ago.
Ino often thought of Dumbledore.
They'd shared a long conversation before the old wizard left to travel the world. Ino had sensed peace in him then, a sense of closure. Dumbledore had dreamed of reuniting with his parents and had been forgiven by Ariana in those dreams. His relationship with Aberforth had even begun to thaw, ever so slightly.
Maybe for someone like Albus, with pockets full of sherbet lemons and a lifetime of secrets, that was the best ending anyone could ask for. He had borne the burdens of the magical world for so long. He deserved a bit of childlike freedom at the end of it all.
…
The sunset, warm and comforting, was fading fast.
Fifteen minutes later, Ino set his empty teacup down. The western sky had dimmed, and the light was beginning to drain from the world.
He stood to leave.
But just as he did, a sharp voice echoed from behind.
"Merlin's beard! Hiding again, are you? Have you forgotten that Beauxbatons and Durmstrang arrive tomorrow?"
Professor McGonagall looked thoroughly unimpressed. While the other staff were scurrying about preparing the castle, here was Ino, sipping tea and nibbling sweets like he hadn't a care in the world.
The way he slouched in his chair, the utterly unbothered expression on his face, it all reminded her far too much of Albus.
The only difference was, she had been Deputy Headmistress then. Powerless. Now? Not so much.
"If you don't want your salary docked, I suggest you stop relaxing and start contributing!"
At the mention of a pay cut, Ino straightened up faster than a first-year caught sneaking into the kitchen.
"Now, now, that's not fair! I stayed up all night installing new magical lanterns all over the castle. I even added extra lighting to the Black Lake docks. And I personally cut back the homework load for half the school!"
McGonagall opened her mouth, then closed it again. Technically, he wasn't wrong.
Still, it irritated her on a fundamental level. Every time she saw someone sipping tea and eating fudge, the image tugged at memories she didn't quite know what to do with.
Back then, she hadn't had the authority. Now, even with it, she found herself just as helpless.
"Fine. Then here's something new for you. Starting tonight, all professors will take turns on night patrols. And guess what? You're first!"
With a huff, she spun on her heel and marched off. Out of sight, out of mind.
Ino chuckled quietly.
She hadn't changed. Even when adding work, McGonagall never played favorites. She always included herself.
He spared a quick thought for the rest of the faculty, offered a brief two-second moment of silence in their honor, and then turned his gaze to the grounds below.
Twilight had passed. The sky was full dark now.
But Hogwarts was far from asleep. One by one, magical lanterns flickered to life outside the castle, dotting the landscape with warm, golden light. Tiny constellations scattered across the grounds.