"Hagrid?" Vinson looked at the large man standing at the doorway with a bewildered expression and quickly waved him in. "Why are you here? Come in."
Hagrid didn't bother with formalities. He stepped into the shop and casually settled onto a sofa, which groaned loudly under his weight.
Seeing how familiar Vinson and Hagrid appeared with each other, Harry blinked in confusion. "You two know each other?"
"Of course, little Harry." Hagrid leaned back comfortably, adding even more strain to the poor sofa. "Professor Vinson and I have known each other for years. This year he'll be at Hogw—"
"Ahem."
Vinson coughed sharply, cutting Hagrid off and giving him a pointed look. "Let's keep some things a surprise for now."
Harry didn't yet know about Vinson's new position at Hogwarts, and Vinson preferred to tell him once they arrived.
Hagrid immediately understood and clamped his mouth shut.
"What was that?" Harry asked, puzzled. "What about a Teacher?"
Hagrid cleared his throat awkwardly. "Nothing, Harry. We were just talking about old times. Professor Vinson and I go way back. He was a student at Hogwarts too. I'm the Keeper of Keys and Groundsman there."
Vinson mentally sighed. Hagrid truly wasn't built for secrecy.
Harry still looked confused but didn't press the point. He was too busy being excited about his Hogwarts acceptance letter.
"Oh—right!" Hagrid quickly shifted the subject. "Vinson, how do you know Harry? Harry said he calls you… Teacher?"
"I've been living here for a while," Vinson said. "About half a year ago, I met Harry. He showed a strong interest in Potions, so I taught him a few classes in advance."
Hagrid turned to look at Harry, who nodded—though he silently felt that calling it a "strong interest" was a bit of an overstatement.
But Hagrid's reaction was something Harry never expected.
The large man's eyes immediately reddened with emotion. He grabbed Harry by the shoulders, practically rubbing Harry's head against his own. "Oh, you like Potions, do you? Little Harry!"
Harry's already messy hair became a disaster.
"You must have a real talent for Potions," Hagrid continued enthusiastically. "Just like your mother."
Mother.
A word so unfamiliar and so rarely heard that Harry felt the moment freeze around him.
"My mother?" he whispered, staring at Hagrid. "You knew my mother?"
Hagrid realized instantly that he had said too much—this wasn't the best moment to get into Harry's family history. But the words were already spoken.
He met Harry's eyes carefully, searching for the right tone. "Yes, Harry… your mother was at Hogwarts when I was already working there. Her Potions marks were always top of the class—almost no one could match her."
Harry's heart thudded painfully. It was the first time he had heard anyone mention his parents in such a personal way.
Vinson glanced at Lupin—who, among everyone here, knew Harry's parents the best. Lupin's expression was solemn, his jaw tight, though he said nothing.
Just as Harry was about to ask more, a harsh creak sounded beneath Vinson's feet.
He looked down.
Torch—the tiny dragon—lay by his shoes, gnawing the leg of the stool.
Even though they were only milk teeth, the marks were obvious.
"Hey! Don't do that, Torch!" Vinson scolded, scooping the dragon up and holding its mouth shut gently but firmly. "Looks like someone needs to learn basic manners."
"WAIT!" Hagrid suddenly bellowed, nearly shaking the walls. "Is that a DRAGON? Vinson—is that really a dragon?!"
Everyone jumped at the volume of his shout.
Vinson felt a jolt of dread. He had completely forgotten that Hagrid—like Professor Kettleburn—was a complete dragon fanatic.
Hagrid shot up from the sofa, nearly knocking it over, and hurried toward Vinson. His towering presence alone seemed to intimidate the little dragon.
Torch froze, his earlier squirming replaced by complete stillness at the sight of a giant looming over him.
Hagrid's eyes sparkled with excitement. "A dragon! I can't believe it! And a Chinese Fireball at that!"
As expected of a true enthusiast—he recognized the breed instantly. Vinson secretly respected him for that. In his own eyes, all dragon hatchlings looked the same: black, wrinkly, and identical.
Given Hagrid's excitement, Vinson instinctively tightened his hold on Torch. It genuinely felt like Hagrid might snatch the dragon away at any second.
"Yes, Hagrid, he's a dragon. But he's still a baby—he hatched not long ago," Vinson explained.
Hagrid leaned in, eyes wide, face filled with pure adoration. "He's beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. I've dreamed my whole life of raising a dragon! Look at him!"
"Do you want to hold him?" Vinson asked. Seeing Hagrid's childlike joy was strangely infectious. "Here."
Hagrid lit up like the sun. "Hold… a dragon? Me?!"
He reached out with huge hands and clumsily took Torch. The tiny dragon wriggled nervously at first, then seemed to give up. His entire body vanished inside Hagrid's enormous palms.
"Oh, he's so small! And he's not scared of me at all!" Hagrid declared proudly. "Have you fed him brandy and chicken blood yet?"
"Of course," Vinson said, holding up a book from the table—Dragon Breeding for Pleasure and Profit. "It recommends that in here."
"I've read that book too!" Hagrid said eagerly. "Someday, I swear, I'll raise a dragon of my own."
…
After that, Hagrid spent nearly half an hour playing with Torch, while Harry could barely get a word in.
Eventually, Hagrid seemed to remember why he had come.
"I need to take Harry to Diagon Alley," he said. "But Harry said he wouldn't go unless you approved. We've got shopping to do."
Vinson was quietly touched. He hadn't expected Harry to trust him that much.
"Of course," Vinson said with a smile, nodding toward Harry. "Hagrid is a good man."
…
After Harry and Hagrid left, Vinson suddenly recalled that he had forgotten to give Harry his birthday present.
But it wasn't urgent—his owl could deliver it to the Dursleys later.
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