Harry Potter: The Bard of Hogwarts

"Red Shoes, Foolish Knock, The Girl Who Stepped on Bread, The Lazy Spinner, The Three Lucky Ones…"

Stories flashed one by one.

Then, Ino shook his head, clearing his mind of the chaotic thoughts.

Because with just these snippets, it was impossible to guess a complete story.

After all… stories happening in a small town like this are countless.

What he needed to do now was to quickly find a temporary place to stay and a way to get into the town's life.

Finding a place to stay was not that difficult; after two years of wandering, Ino had saved some coins, enough to stay in such a small place for a while.

But finding a way into the town's life required careful thought, starting with establishing his identity, just as he had done before—as an apprentice bard.

Once his identity was settled, the next step was choosing whom to approach. He had to avoid the ordinary.

Like the houses he had seen along the way—identical, ordinary, and unremarkable—they were not in his selection range.

Instead, those with peculiar shapes or those that were rundown were his first choice.

Even if the town's story had ended, he could still gain some hidden benefits from these places.

...

In the town, Old John finished his day's work of shoe repair and returned to his dilapidated house.

Although it was drafty and leaked during rainy days, it was still one of his few possessions.

"Hello, sir! Sorry to bother you, but if possible, could I stay here for a while? I'll pay you."

After some investigation, Ino had finally chosen this rundown old house. He hurriedly approached the owner as he returned home.

The sudden voice made Old John stop. After a moment of surprise, he asked uncertainly, "Are you talking to me?"

"Yes, sir! I am a wandering bard, it's very late, and there's no inn in this town."

With a sincere expression and a reasonable excuse, Ino had perfected this routine.

Even if he faced Dumbledore, he was confident he could convince him. What more, this was just an ordinary elderly man.

"A bard!" Old John showed a trace of nostalgia on his face as if he were reminiscing.

"Alright, young man! If you don't mind the drafts in here."

"Thank you, kind sir!" Ino responded obediently.

"Don't call me sir! I'm no lord or noble. They all call me Old John; you can call me that too."

"Okay, Old John! And I hope you call me Ino. The title of young man suited me three years ago."

A simple joke often brings people closer, which Ino knew very well.

"Haha! Alright, stranger bard Ino." Old John laughed heartily in response.

...

Night.

In a room less than ten square meters, a faint oil lamp flickered, its tiny flame barely illuminating the surrounding area.

Next to the lamp, Ino and Old John sat opposite each other.

"…Being a bard is a good job. When I was young, I longed for freedom, always wanting to go out and explore. After wandering for half my life, I returned to find that my once-resented hometown couldn't accommodate me anymore."

Under the weak light, the wrinkles on Old John's face became more pronounced.

"That's nothing! At least you've experienced it! Many people end up with nothing but do not regret it because they never tried." Ino responded casually.

He deeply understood Old John's sentiment. In another world, many people left their homes for study, work, or buying a house…

But they would eventually find how difficult it was for a wanderer to settle in a place that didn't belong to them.

"I now believe you are a bard." Old John suddenly said seriously.

"Is that so? That's good!" Ino shrugged indifferently.

"I have many stories to tell you in the future, but I won't do it for free."

"Hahaha, in this town, you are destined to leave empty-handed."

Old John's casual remark made Ino perk up. What was he seeking by finding a way in? Gathering useful information.

"Oh, does this place have a tradition of not paying for stories?" Ino asked nonchalantly.

"Not really." Old John waved his hand and continued:

"This place used to be very poor; people went hungry often. It's only in recent years that life has improved a bit, but asking them to pay for stories is wishful thinking."

Ino's mind raced; from Old John's words, he gathered an important piece of information—the story here seemed to have ended.

This wasn't a random guess but based on his two years of travel experience.

A place only undergoes significant changes when its story has concluded. Otherwise… plans to build roads, engage in commerce, or uplift the people are fantasies in a fantasy world.

"No matter. I won't stay here long. As long as I live, the journey continues, whether on the road or in my heart."

Ino said with a sudden lack of interest.

The story ending meant the beginning of a mundane life. This also meant he couldn't gain anything useful.

Perhaps sensing the change in Ino's tone, Old John comforted him:

"Young man! You don't need to be like this. Although people here are frugal, they at least offer some spare items as payment for your stories."

"I told you, don't call me young man!" Ino pretended to be angry.

"Haha… alright! But you do look quite young."

Maybe it was their first meeting, or perhaps chatting by the lamp was too extravagant.

Not long after, Old John ended the conversation, citing fatigue.

...

Late at night.

Ino lay on a straw-filled bed, with the wind howling outside.

These winds seemed to have a mind of their own, cleverly bypassing the intact walls and sneaking in through hidden gaps.

This made the already not-so-warm room even colder.

Faced with such conditions, Ino could only tighten the blanket around him.

To be fair, this blanket, though looking shabby, was genuine wool, which effectively retained body heat.

"Maybe I'll do a divination tomorrow… Well, it's good the story has ended. I can take this time to read some books."

Since it had already happened, he accepted it calmly.

Ino always remembered one thing: living in this world, greed must be avoided.

Thus, he never obsessively sought benefits from stories. After all, life is precious; as long as he lived, opportunities would come.