Harry Potter: The Bard of Hogwarts

Inside the tavern.

The moment Jacob stepped through the door, the world outside shifted.

The pitch-black forest that had loomed at the threshold was gone—replaced by a sun-drenched valley alive with birdsong and wildflowers. Even the darkness of night gave way to a warm, golden morning.

"Oh my goodness! This is—" Jacob froze, words trailing off as his senses tried to catch up with the abrupt change in light and scenery.

Though curiosity burned behind his eyes, his feet stayed rooted to the floorboards as if he'd grown roots. One hand clung to the doorframe, the other shielding his eyes as he cautiously peered outside.

"Ino…" he murmured.

"You can go look, don't worry," Ino replied with a relaxed smile, gesturing toward the valley beyond. "It's safe here."

At that moment, Hermione stepped out from behind the bar, curiosity flickering in her eyes.

"I hate to interrupt," she said politely but with a tinge of urgency. "But I need to ask... are your names really Grimm? As in... the Grimm Brothers?"

She had suspected as much ever since hearing their names—Jacob and Wilhelm—spoken aloud. No last names had been shared, but those two names together were practically folklore themselves. And looking at them, the family resemblance was hard to ignore.

"Of course! Grimm's the name," Wilhelm said with a slight bow and no hint of secrecy. "You can call us the Brothers Grimm."

"Oh my stars—it is the Brothers Grimm!" Hermione gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth, eyes wide with awe.

First Hans Christian Andersen, and now this. Her childhood heroes were apparently strolling in and out of this rustic little tavern like it was the local post office. If a talking cat in boots walked in next, she wouldn't even blink.

"Fairytales?" Wilhelm echoed, raising an eyebrow at Ino with a questioning glance. "She's calling them fairytales now?"

But he quickly masked any confusion with a diplomatic smile. "Yes… fairytales. Simple and beautiful stories, right?"

Hermione picked up on the subtle tension in his tone. She was sharp like that. After a pause, the realization clicked—perhaps the original Grimm tales weren't as sanitized as the bedtime versions she'd grown up with. Over time, they'd been edited, watered down, turned into nursery material.

Recognizing her slip, she let the topic drop and busied herself at the bar, pulling down a few clean mugs and filling them with frothy, golden butterbeer.

A six-petaled tulip hung high in the sky, radiating gentle warmth.

Sunlight filtered through the tavern's quaint lattice windows, painting the dark-redwood tables in soft, nostalgic hues. The scent of aged wood, fermented hops, and something like time itself mingled in the air, giving the place a kind of dreamy stillness.

"Then this valley… is part of your story?" Wilhelm asked, tipping back his mug and finishing the last third of his drink.

"You could say that," Ino replied with a modest nod.

The latest transformation of the valley had been unusually dramatic. Afterward, he'd even sent Blue Lantern to map the area. Starting from the tavern as the center point, the surrounding land now stretched so far that it nearly rivaled the Scottish Highlands in sheer size.

For context: the Highlands—nestled in the northwest corner of Britain, bordered by the North Sea and the Atlantic—span over seventy thousand square kilometers. That's nearly a third the size of all the British Isles combined.

So yes, this valley was big enough to count as a story.

But it wasn't perfect.

Aside from the central cluster of buildings—the tavern, a windmill, flower fields, and a small herb garden—the surrounding landscape was empty. Vast, endless plains rolled out in all directions, so barren they made a desert look cluttered. Not even a pebble broke the surface.

It looked less like untouched wilderness and more like someone had hit a cosmic "reset" button.

As Wilhelm mused aloud, Ino quietly recalled the scope of the valley. And on the other side of the room, Jacob finally spoke up, his voice thoughtful:

"It feels like an elven sanctuary… though not fully formed yet. My brother and I once visited a place older than memory itself."

He paused, then added with a hopeful smile, "But this—this is incredible already. Tell me… can we come back?"

His question hung in the air.

Both Wilhelm and Hermione turned toward Ino, waiting for the answer.

Ino simply smiled.

"No one can stop you from entering my story."

In truth, the moment the Grimm brothers stepped into the tavern, Ino had sensed the shift. Rules, similar to those that governed the old Sanctuary, had clicked into place. Those invited could return—at regular intervals—to this valley.

Unlike when Ino had visited Hans's story, where entry was random and unpredictable, access to this valley was... manageable. Controlled.

"Here—take these," Ino said suddenly.

He snapped his fingers.

Two green leaves fluttered down from above, sailing gracefully through the open air and landing in Wilhelm and Jacob's hands.

"What are these?" Wilhelm asked, studying the leaf's texture—it felt more like fine silk than plant matter.

"Passes," Ino explained. "With these, you'll never have to sleep on the cold ground again. You can use them once per month. Each time, you're allowed to stay for up to seven days."

Jacob's eyes lit up with calculation. "Seven days per month... that's eighty-four days a year! We could build a house here!"

He added under his breath, "Cheaper than renting a room and drinking butterbeer every day…"

Ino chuckled heartily. "Of course! Just know... land doesn't come free."

"That's only fair," Wilhelm nodded in agreement. "No good tale is written without effort."

And so, the conversation flowed on, golden and lazy as the last drips of beer in the barrel.

Eventually, Jacob yawned—long and loud.

The valley may have been basking in eternal spring, but he and his brother had spent the entire day lost in the Black Forest before arriving here. With several mugs of butterbeer now in their systems and the warm haze of safety wrapping around them, their weariness finally caught up.

"Let me show you to your rooms," Ino offered kindly. "There's plenty of time for the rest later."

He had nearly forgotten what it felt like to deal with jet lag—or whatever you called it when magical realms didn't follow time zones.

With a playful wave to the tulip sun above—as if greeting an old friend—Ino beckoned nightfall. The sky shifted from morning to noon, then to sunset, and finally into velvet dusk.

The tavern, though modest in size, had five rooms upstairs. Excluding the one he shared with Hermione, there was more than enough space for the two brothers to have a room each.

Once they were settled, Ino quietly made his way back downstairs.

"You've been thinking about something," Hermione said, waiting at the foot of the stairs with her arms crossed. "Now that we're alone again, spill it."

The earlier awkwardness between them had all but vanished. They were on the same side now.

Hermione hesitated, chewing her bottom lip. Then she said it.

"Let's build a house here. I never liked that place in Hogsmeade."

She didn't have to explain. He already knew. That old house wasn't really hers, and secrets had long shadows.

Ino didn't even pause.

"Alright," he said simply. "Let's build our home in the valley."