At daybreak in Godric's Hollow, the Muggles woke from their warm beds, filled with confusion and curiosity.
Rubbing their sleepy eyes, they caught sight of crowds in strange clothing passing through the village. Their elaborate, magnificent outfits made them look like characters out of ancient legends or fairy tales from distant lands.
These uninvited visitors converged on the square in the center of the village, their steps steady and mysterious.
The last time such a large gathering of strangely dressed people had appeared in this peaceful valley was a distant memory from over a decade ago. The spectacle back then had been like a dream, and its reappearance now stirred ripples in the villagers' hearts.
However, they failed to notice a subtle phenomenon: whenever some of the local residents tried to enter the bustling square to find out what event was about to take place, they would inexplicably remember something seemingly urgent halfway there-perhaps the stew on the stove needed stirring, or a lamb in the sheep pen needed feeding. In short, all sorts of trivial reasons forced them to hurry back, preventing them from taking even one step closer to the mysterious square.
At that moment, in a secluded corner of the square, Douglas's editor, Lains, was tightly surrounded by a ring of people.
In that somewhat quiet corner of the square, Slane-Douglas's editor-was tightly surrounded by a group of anxious readers, their faces showing a mixture of anticipation, confusion, and a little disappointment.
Slane wore a dark suit, and despite his somewhat awkward predicament, he maintained his usual professional composure.
"Oh, my dear readers, I understand how you feel."
Faced with questions from every direction, Lains responded with a helpless, wry smile.
"As for the questions in your letters, I assure you that I received and carefully read