"Ole Luck-Oie!"
Staring up at the gift dangling from the oak tree, Ino murmured the name of the dream god from the old story—Ole Luck-Oie.
Ole was the most ordinary of names, symbolizing every common child, while Luck-Oie came from the contraction of "Lukke" and "Cie," meaning simply: close your eyes.
The dream god, known for weaving tales, would visit children at bedtime and bring them beautiful dreams.
And the moment Ino spoke his name, the three gifts hanging from the branches dropped gently to the ground.
One of them a robe drifted slowly to Ino's side, and then, like mist or light, it wrapped itself around his existing Hogwarts robe. The Slytherin design remained intact, but there was something undeniably more refined about it now, something noble and mysterious.
Unlike the way his outfit had subtly transformed during the First Task of the Triwizard Tournament, this time the change was immediately obvious. Even someone as blind as Filch might notice something was different.
Of course, if you dragged Madam Malkin from Diagon Alley and asked her to find the seam, she'd probably come up empty-handed. The dream god's robe wasn't so much a piece of clothing as it was a shimmer in the air, like a memory of a robe, gently resting on the real one.
...
Meanwhile, the two umbrellas, vintage and completely different in style had fused into a single, elegant piece. The once-smooth wooden shaft had been replaced by a material identical to Ino's wand: gnarled, uneven elder wood.
Now the umbrella looked more like a walking stick for a brooding Victorian gentleman. It was about two feet long and felt solid in the hand, more of a staff than a parasol.
The canopy was painted with vivid imagery in a ring around the outside, springtime blossoms, summer stars, autumn moons, and winter snowflakes. All the seasons captured in bright, shifting colors.
But underneath, hidden until the umbrella was opened, the inner fabric was stark in contrast. Deep navy blue, with sparse strokes of grey and black like curling smoke, ominous, even.
"Nightmare's veil…" Ino muttered, turning the umbrella over in his hands.
In the original tale, the dream god carried two umbrellas: the colorful one gave well-behaved children pleasant dreams, while the dark one erased the dreams of naughty ones. But this… this version felt different. Too different.
More dangerous.
He stared at the inky underside, suspicious. "There better not be a Boggart hiding in here."
As if summoned by his thoughts, the shadows beneath his feet began to twist and churn. A black wisp of smoke slithered into the umbrella. The midnight blue of the inner lining darkened further, until it turned pitch black. In the faintest glimmer, one could make out the cursed mountain-dwellers of old skeletal, rotted, and bound by ancient oaths.
"Well, that confirms it," Ino muttered, eyes widening a little. "That's not just a dream. That's a bona fide nightmare."
Despite the grim revelation, a slow grin tugged at the corners of his lips. The valley had surprised him once again.
He remembered a conversation with Professor Lupin long ago, about Boggarts and nightmares, and whether they were cousins or just shared a cozy cave somewhere. Back then, it was just a theory. Something filed away between History of Magic notes and doodles of cauldrons on fire.
Now it seemed that seed had finally sprouted.
...
"One thought… and night gently opens her eyes. In the mingling of light and dark, the infinite is born. Creation brushes the sky, and dreams take shape upon the silent heavens…"
Ino raised the now-colorful umbrella and gave it a casual flick.
It was as if he had unlocked some ancient switch in the fabric of the world.
The warm daylight faded under a soft, velvety dusk. The tulip-shaped sun slipped away without protest. Even the rainbow river in the sky dissolved into ink.
And then, from the branches of the oak tree, the jeweled ornaments that had hung there for years shimmered, lifted, and rose into the air. Not just this year's gifts, all of them. Every sparkling gemstone from years past answered the call.
Despite the night, each one glowed brightly.
Opalescent moonstones, sapphire-like topazes, vivid rubies like pomegranate seeds, cornflower-blue sapphires, and bright green tsavorite garnets, all joined the dance.
They arced across the sky, forming a celestial river.
The blackness above bloomed with stars.
Some cascaded like waterfalls. Others spun in slow constellations. The entire sky had become a storybook illustration brought to life.
Ino stared up, stunned by his own handiwork. He knew he'd triggered it, but the beauty still hit him like a rogue Bludger.
The night sky was stitched with stars.
"From the shadows she rises," Ino whispered. "Queen of night, soft in silver. Her touch soothes the world in its loneliest hours…"
Poetic murmurs echoed through the valley.
A crystal orb, one he'd long forgotten about, began to rise. Higher and higher it floated, glowing brighter with each passing second. Its pale, cold light spilled across the landscape.
Over seventy thousand acres bathed in soft silver.
And yet, even in the moonlight, Ino frowned. His eyes fell on a stretch of barren ground in the distance.
...
The symphony of night, the Song of Stars, the Ode to the Moon, had played its final note. But the valley wasn't silent.
Now came the Song of Mountains, the Whisper of Rivers, the Breath of Forests…
No one knew how long it lasted. Time had unraveled.
At last, Ino gently lowered the umbrella.
The valley had changed completely. What once had been wild or empty now teemed with life. It felt as if someone had rewritten the very script of the land.
A creation myth, unfolding in real time.
And while the dream god's umbrella had done much of the work, it wasn't alone.
In the middle of the valley, a tiny well that had once looked like an overturned teacup had expanded into a proper water source. Its mouth was three feet wide now, ringed in stone and steady.
There was water in the valley. Real water.
Yes, magic could conjure drinking water in an instant, but it was fleeting, rootless. This was different. This was a source.
A stream. A river. Life.
...
Ino stood silently on the fresh earth, staring up at the painted sky.
Once, he had only retold the stories of others. Now, he had a story of his own.
And it had only just begun.
"Still daydreaming?"
He turned.
Hermione stood there, eyes wide and mouth half-open, clearly trying to find words.
Ino had known she was there the whole time, of course. But when inspiration takes you, you don't pause to wave hello.
He smiled. "Caught your breath yet?"
Hermione blinked several times. "That was… I mean, this is… I don't even know what to say."
"Feels like a fairytale come true?" he offered.
"Yes! Exactly!" she said, still gaping. "Like… like a wish that actually worked."
Ino chuckled. "A very vivid one."