While Harry was still fiddling curiously with the birthday gift Vinson had given him, the young professor had already stepped into the bustling streets of Diagon Alley. The morning sun filtered between crooked brick buildings, casting long golden streaks over the cobblestones. Wizards and witches hurried past with packages, cauldrons, and noisy pets, filling the air with a lively din.
Vinson walked with a distinct purpose. His destination was the Magical Creatures Shop located on the south side of the alley—a place known not only for its variety of magical animals but also for being the most popular pet shop in all of Britain. Most Hogwarts first-years bought their first companions here, from snowy owls to puffskeins that cooed happily when cuddled. The shop's reputation stretched all the way across the Isles, and it even had several branches scattered throughout the country.
The moment Vinson pushed open the wooden door, a crisp little bell chimed overhead.
"Welcome!" a witch greeted warmly from behind the counter. Her tidy robes and friendly smile marked her clearly as the shop's assistant. "Are you looking for a pet today? We just received a new batch of owls—very smart ones, if I may say so."
Vinson shook his head politely. "Thank you, but I'm not here to buy a pet. Is the owner in?"
The assistant hesitated, her brows pulling together. "Sir," she began cautiously, "could you tell me what you need? If you must speak with the boss directly, I can send the message along."
Before Vinson could answer, recognition suddenly flashed in her eyes.
"Oh—are you Mr. Vinson?"
He nodded, slightly amused.
Her expression immediately shifted to one of embarrassment mixed with relief. "You should have said so sooner! The boss has been expecting you. Please, follow me. She's waiting in the back room."
"Thank you," he replied.
She led him through a narrow corridor that smelled of hay and something faintly sulfurous. Small cages lined the walls, some rattling softly as magical creatures inside shifted or chirped. At the end of the corridor stood a wooden door.
"Ms. Roskin? Mr. Vinson is here!" the assistant called.
A clear, composed voice answered, "Please come in."
The assistant opened the door, and Vinson stepped into a surprisingly modest office. A single table dominated the room, covered with disorganized stacks of parchment, quills, and unopened letters. A few magical animal portraits hung on the walls. In one of them, a horned beast trotted in circles, occasionally snorting at Vinson before disappearing behind the frame's edge.
Behind the desk sat a young witch—much younger than Vinson had expected. She had elegantly curled black hair, sharp features, and wore a well-tailored grey robe that gave her an air of authority despite her age. She looked up from her paperwork and smiled.
"Mr. Vinson, welcome." She stood and extended her hand.
They shook hands briefly.
Vinson decided not to waste time on formalities—especially after having already paid a hefty deposit. "Ms. Roskin, I'm pleased to finally meet you. Did you receive the order I sent?"
"Of course." Roskin pushed aside a mound of documents and dug through the pile until she pulled out a slightly crumpled parchment. She flattened it on the desk, glanced over its contents, and lifted her gaze to him with a peculiar expression.
"To be honest," she said lightly, "when I first saw your order, I thought it was a joke. I nearly tossed it out."
"You can't get the items?" Vinson asked, masking his disappointment.
Roskin let out a soft, incredulous laugh—almost musical. "Oh, I can get most of them. But perhaps you should reread what you wrote, sir." She pointed at the parchment. "Murtlap. Diricawl. Fwooper—these are reasonable, if not entirely ordinary. But then you requested a Toxic Horned Beast and a Horned Serpent. Do you want me thrown in Azkaban?"
Vinson had expected this reaction. He never truly believed the shop could provide those more dangerous creatures. Even if they could, he couldn't possibly afford them—nor parade them around Hogwarts, where terrified first-years would scream at the sight.
He sighed inwardly. It was worth trying, at least.
Seeing his expression, Roskin added with a playful wink, "Well… if you could somehow hide it from the Ministry of Magic, it wouldn't be impossible."
Vinson blinked. "Really?"
"Just teasing." She shrugged, though her eyes sparkled with something that suggested she might not have been entirely joking.
"Let's not get carried away," Vinson said with a wave of his hand. "Aside from the last two items, can you supply the rest?"
Roskin reviewed the list again, her confidence returning. "Everything else is perfectly manageable." She raised an eyebrow. "But Mr. Vinson, are you absolutely sure you want all the creatures on this list? It will cost you quite a lot."
"All of them," Vinson confirmed without hesitation. "And send the bill to Hogwarts."
At that very moment, somewhere far away in the quiet castle, Albus Dumbledore let out a thunderous sneeze in his office.
After their transaction was completed—and Roskin had arranged for safe, discreet delivery—Vinson felt rather satisfied. To celebrate, he headed to the Three Broomsticks for a drink.
The cozy interior welcomed him with warm candlelight and the scent of butterbeer and spiced mead. To his pleasant surprise, he spotted a familiar half-giant occupying a corner table, happily sipping from a large mug.
"Good morning, Hagrid," Vinson greeted.
Hagrid glanced up, his bearded face breaking into a wide smile. He patted the empty seat beside him. "Professor Vinson! Come sit. Fancy a drink?"
Vinson settled into the seat and ordered mead as well. "Do you come here often?"
"Aye," Hagrid admitted with a gentle sigh. "Either here or the Hog's Head. Hogwarts gets mighty quiet when all the students are off on holiday. And besides—the drinks 'ere are the best."
Vinson nodded, taking a sip of his drink as they slipped into casual conversation. Before long, the topic drifted naturally toward Harry.
"Harry's a good lad," Hagrid murmured, rubbing his eyes fondly. "When we were in Diagon Alley yesterday, he even bought you a birthday present."
"Me?" Vinson blinked, genuinely surprised. "I haven't received anything yet. What did he buy?"
Hagrid chuckled and waved a hand. "Best not to spoil the surprise."
Their conversation paused as Hagrid suddenly leaned forward, lowering his voice.
"See that bloke over there?" He pointed subtly toward a man sitting at another table. The man's back was turned, his head wrapped in an unusually thick purple turban.
"That's the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."
Vinson followed his gaze. A cold jolt went down his spine. "Quirrell," he murmured internally.
He reached out mentally. Eldera, he called, invoking the Tree of Wisdom.
Information appeared swiftly.
[Name: Quirinus Quirrell]
[Occupation: Wizard]
And then—
[Name: Tom Riddle]
[Occupation: Wizard]
Two identities, one presence.
Vinson's expression darkened as understanding settled coldly into his chest. There was no doubt about it—Quirrell was already possessed by Voldemort.
"Lord Voldemort…" Vinson whispered under his breath.
Hatred rippled quietly through him—not fiery or reckless, but sharp and controlled, like a blade long kept honed.
Hagrid glanced at him. "You alright, Professor?"
Vinson forced a small smile. "Just thinking."
But his eyes remained fixed, for a moment longer, on the turban-wrapped figure across the room.
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