Chapter 358: The Flying Owls

"Professor! Please, just hear me out—this really isn't necessary."

Inside a spotless, ten-square-meter hospital room, Ino sat upright on the bed, voicing his final protest to Professor McGonagall.

"Lie down. Now," she ordered sternly, ignoring his objection. After a brief pause to rephrase herself, she added,

"You just… you weren't yourself a moment ago. Not at all."

McGonagall's tone was unusually honest. Had it been any other student, she might have softened the truth with a white lie. But with Ino… after careful consideration, she chose to be straightforward.

Faced with her candor, Ino didn't try to hide the truth either.

"Professor, I understand. Really, I do. But I've already thought of a preliminary solution. Besides, it's not that serious…"

He spoke plainly, not trying to exaggerate or downplay. He understood his condition well—it wasn't life-threatening. As long as he avoided further emotional triggers or reckless use of magic, his mind and magic would stabilize again over time.

After listening to his explanation, Professor McGonagall reluctantly gave a nod.

"Still, I want you to stay here for two days. Let Madam Pomfrey run a few checks, and more importantly—rest. Merlin's beard… you gave me quite the scare back there."

McGonagall's face was visibly pale. It wasn't just concern for Ino's well-being that frightened her, but also the danger that had loomed over the students in Hogsmeade.

Many had yet to be evacuated when the chaos broke out. Had the battle escalated…

The mere thought of what could've happened left her chilled to the core. Deep down, another worry lingered—sending Ino back to his dormitory right now might not be the safest option either.

On the bed, Ino noticed the troubled look on her face and understood what she wasn't saying aloud.

"Alright, I'll stay for a few days. Funny, isn't it? It's been four years, and this is the first time I've ended up in the Hospital Wing."

"And I hope it's the last," McGonagall replied, her tone serious.

Their conversation didn't last long, as the door soon creaked open and Madam Pomfrey entered.

Unlike her usual approach—bringing in a tray of potions and calling it a day—this time she wheeled in a full cart.

It was stacked high with bottles, vials, and a number of mysterious-looking instruments that even Ino couldn't identify.

The Hospital Wing was quiet.

But the silence extended far beyond its walls—it had settled over the entire castle.

Within the common rooms of all four Hogwarts houses, an eerie hush prevailed.

Though packed with students, no one dared to speak. It was so still, one could hear a pin drop.

Everyone had gathered together, their eyes locked on the magical screen that had been brought back from Hogsmeade—the Movie-Mirror.

The footage began with two figures facing off in mid-air, snow swirling in the sky, dark clouds gathering overhead, and skeletal soldiers half-concealed by fog…

For more than half an hour, the mirror displayed what many believed impossible. An ocean of insects that blotted out the sky, deafening explosions, and fiery spells slithering like Norse runes through a blizzard.

Minute by minute, the Movie-Mirror shattered everything these young witches and wizards thought they knew.

They'd seen magic used to transform matchsticks into needles, make pineapples dance, levitate feathers, or brew boil-curing potions and fertilize magical plants…

But this—this was another world.

Regardless of background—whether from Muggle families, pure-bloods, or half-bloods—every student had the same stunned realization:

What the hell have we been learning?

Is Hogwarts teaching us fake magic?

And they weren't the only ones watching.

Students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang had also seen the footage.

Even champions like Fleur Delacour and Viktor Krum, who once had their eyes set on winning the Triwizard Tournament, silently adjusted their goals. Now, they were aiming for second place.

While Hogwarts was captivated by the Movie-Mirror, countless owls were already soaring across the skies.

London — Ministry of Magic, Level One, Minister's Office

Cornelius Fudge sat quietly at his expansive desk, a two-foot-wide luxury Movie-Mirror in front of him. The screen displayed a crisp close-up of Lord Voldemort's face.

The footage ended with Voldemort's elegant turn and exit, the image slowly fading into darkness.

Even after it disappeared, Fudge remained motionless, as if petrified—his expression blank, posture rigid.

A long silence.

Then—

"Ahhh…" A weary sigh echoed through the office.

Fudge had already known about Voldemort's return. Dumbledore and Bartemius Crouch Sr. had visited him a week ago and explained everything in detail.

He hadn't believed them at the time, but he had taken precautions—just in case.

He'd strengthened security at Azkaban and discreetly reached out to several old pure-blood families—Lestrange, Malfoy, even the Crabbes.

A double-edged strategy: if Voldemort rose, they'd be ready to fight—or join.

Despite all that, Voldemort's sudden appearance had caught him completely off guard.

The Dark Lord hadn't freed his imprisoned followers, nor had he summoned his acquitted ones.

No, he had simply walked into Hogsmeade in broad daylight.

Fudge groaned and rubbed his temples.

If he had a second chance, he would've publicly backed Dumbledore and Crouch immediately. He wouldn't have tried to hide the truth for the sake of "stability."

But it was too late. Everything was out in the open now. And when the public turned against the Ministry, it was the Minister who'd bear the brunt.

A cold, helpless dread welled up inside him.

His eyes drifted once more to the Movie-Mirror on his desk.

He had mixed feelings about the new invention. On one hand, it had captured the Dark Lord in excruciating detail.

On the other… it offered a sliver of hope.

Someone had stood against Voldemort in direct combat—and held the line.

The Dark Lord's terrifying reputation had taken a blow.

Just as Dumbledore had once been the symbolic pillar of the magical world's courage, now… it seemed a new name was being whispered.

Swinburne.

Young. Energetic. And not even graduated.

"I need to meet him… and bring along the Daily Prophet reporters…" Fudge murmured to himself as he gazed into the fading reflection.

Gradually, a strategy began to form.

It was the same approach that had worked for him years ago when he first assumed office: align with the public's hope.

Back then, it was Dumbledore.

Now? All he had to do was change the name.

How fast can an owl fly?

There's no exact answer—but there are estimates.

Depending on the species, owls fly at speeds ranging from 45 to 100 kilometers per hour.

And from the end of the Hogsmeade incident to now, nearly half a day had passed.

That was enough time for more than 80% of the owls to deliver their letters and packages.

By now, most recipients had received what was sent their way.

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