All matters seem to follow a principle: the ultimate compromise.
Whether it is a clash of ideologies, a dispute over interests, or even a physical confrontation, as long as it doesn't reach a life-or-death situation, compromise is the only path forward.
This principle applies equally in the magical world.
Faced with the unexpected appearance of a fourth champion, both Madam Maxime and Karkaroff chose to compromise and accept it.
In the end, the two headmasters even exchanged a probing glance.
Perhaps both of them suspected that the other knew of Ino's strength in advance and staged this whole event to even the playing field.
But whether it was a ruse or a genuine accident, both of them were content with the outcome, even delighted.
It's like a duel between students that suddenly involves the previous champion of the International Wizarding Duel Tournament—there's no comparison, the outcome is obvious.
However, the situation is different now. This champion has had his legs held by his teammates, restricting his movement, making the duel somewhat manageable.
...
The three headmasters eventually reached a consensus.
This decision quickly spread throughout the castle by the next day.
A storm seemed to have arisen, creating an unprecedented uproar.
Even though a week had passed, rumors in the castle showed no signs of fading, with everyone discussing the fourth champion as much as possible.
Once again, Harry became the center of attention—or rather, the subject of gossip.
But no matter how fiercely the wind blew inside the castle, it seemed only to enter through the windows, leaving the depths of the Slytherin common room, safely nestled underground, in relative peace.
Ino had no interest in the rumors swirling outside.
A lot had happened over the past week, but the only thing that caught his attention was the date of the first task.
After a joint consultation by the five judges, the date was set for the end of November.
It was quite interesting. The champions were chosen in early October, and the competition wouldn't start until the end of November—nearly two months later, as if worried that one side wouldn't be adequately prepared.
Ino had no intention of inquiring about Dumbledore's plans, as it would be pointless.
What he truly needed to know, Dumbledore would tell him. For things he didn't need to know, forcing the issue would only provide more fodder for conversation.
Since the old headmaster was willing to take the lead, Ino was happy to sit back and relax.
...
Inside the Slytherin dormitory.
Ino took off his plain robe and changed into a blue tunic he had previously woven from spider silk.
A week had passed quietly, and today marked the time of his appointment with Marcus.
"Ino, do you think I need to go?"
Inside the dormitory, Draco hesitated for a long time before tentatively asking.
"You? My answer is that it's up to you. If you want to go, go; if not, just rest in the dormitory. As a shareholder, you always have the right."
After a brief moment of thought, Ino responded to Draco's question.
"Then I won't go. It's not like there's anything there for me to do anyway." Draco let out a long sigh of relief, now glad that he hadn't gotten too involved in the operation.
"Ha! It's not as bad as you think." Ino saw through Draco's thoughts at a glance.
In truth, Ino didn't suspect anyone until he saw evidence.
If he flew into a rage and started doubting his partners just because of something Krum had said, it would be too foolish.
While he didn't need to doubt them, he couldn't ignore them either.
Krum's words made him realize something: a strong alliance requires mutual respect and equal status.
...
As Ino prepared to depart, far away on the main street of Diagon Alley...
In a shop that spanned about a hundred square meters, the atmosphere was somewhat subdued.
The "Magic Image" shop, originally a Malfoy family business, had later been used by Draco as his investment.
The shop had two floors; the first floor was used for business, while the second floor served as a standard storage warehouse.
This might seem like a waste of space, but without sufficient goods and a wide variety, concentrating everything on the first floor was the most sensible choice.
At the moment, the shop was still open for business, though it appeared somewhat quiet, and the shelves weren't exactly overflowing with merchandise either.
This allowed the two young clerks on the first floor to slip into a leisurely mode—each with a bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, chatting idly.
The male and female clerks both looked to be under twenty, especially the female clerk, who seemed to have just graduated from Hogwarts.
"Penelope, do you think something big has happened for them to come to the store instead of focusing on increasing production? Or do you think the business is going under?" The male clerk sat behind the counter, full of curiosity and inquiry, but mostly boredom.
"I don't know!" Penelope turned her head, her tone calm. "But Flint, you know how things are here. Orders from all over the world are booked until next year. If your cousin finds out you're hoping for a collapse..."
"Don't! I was just talking nonsense." Linley Flint instantly sobered up.
As a lesser branch of the Flint family, he knew too well the methods of purebloods. Marcus's image appeared in his mind—always smiling, but with an unknown coldness behind it.
"In that case, stop talking nonsense! If you really have nothing to do, just take a nap."
Penelope turned away, no longer looking at her sensible colleague. With just a casual remark from her, he really did lie down and sleep on the desk.
Yet, even so, she had no solution. As the former Ravenclaw female prefect and Hogwarts student council president, Penelope had thought that after graduation, she would at least land a decent job.
However, reality had taught her a lesson: Muggle-born wizards had no place in the Ministry of Magic. Or rather, every respectable job had a label on it. What seemed like openness was merely a front for the public.
Even in the Centaur Liaison Office—a perpetually quiet department—there were still some half-bloods holding positions.
"If one path doesn't work, try another..." Penelope looked at the stairs leading to the second floor.
It seemed that some people were born to be upstairs, while she could only remain beneath their feet. Even earning the right to be beneath them had been possible only thanks to Percy's connections.
She couldn't help but feel a pang of irony.
It seemed everything in the castle was just a dream. Prefect authority, student honors—they all amounted to nothing after leaving Hogwarts, unable to compete with a light and airy surname.
"I should have known not to try so hard..."
Looking back at her school days now, it all seemed absurd.
Those she once looked down on now held respectable positions, while she, the former student council president, was merely a shop assistant.
Although her monthly income was considerable, in essence, she was still just a service worker.