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As the train arrived, dusk had already settled, painting the sky in shades of deep indigo.
"First years! First years, come over here! Harry, come over here, how are you?" Hagrid's booming voice echoed from outside, cutting through the chatter of arriving students.
Vinson stirred awake from his nap and peered out the window. The platform was bustling with students, and Hagrid was standing prominently before them, rubbing his stiff shoulders, arms stretching as he continued speaking. It felt nostalgic, riding the Hogwarts Express once again after all these years.
Vinson waited until the crowd had dispersed before stepping off the train leisurely. He let out a long, clear whistle, which resonated into the night air. Almost instantly, a response came from above—a silent figure descending gracefully, landing softly in front of him.
Its wings were wide yet partially folded, its skeletal frame tall and intimidating, and its eyes, void of pupils, gleamed eerily in the night. A Thestral.
"Thank you for coming to pick me up," Vinson murmured, raising a hand to stroke the creature's neck.
The Thestral lowered its head, sniffing his palm as if confirming his presence, then exhaled softly, a sound almost like affection.
With a practiced motion, Vinson swung onto its back. The Thestral flexed its massive wing membranes a few times before launching fiercely into the night sky. The evening wind bit at his face, and his black robe fluttered wildly, blending him into the darkness.
Despite the thrill, Vinson couldn't help but acknowledge the ride's discomfort. The Thestral's thin frame made the seat nearly unbearable, its protruding bones pressing sharply against him. Perhaps this was why Hogwarts preferred to have Thestrals pull carriages rather than carry passengers.
Soon, the Thestral landed at Hogwarts' entrance. Vinson dismounted, sneezing at the chilly night air, still fresh from their flight. The first-years were likely still crossing the Black Lake, while other students had probably taken their carriages.
Pushing open the castle gates, Vinson was met with the sight of Professor McGonagall. She stood tall in her dark green robes, hair perfectly in place, her expression poised yet clearly focused on welcoming the new students.
Her eyes widened momentarily upon seeing him; she had expected a crowd of first-years, not a lone figure arriving ahead of them.
"Why is it you, Professor Vinson?" she asked, a trace of surprise in her voice. "Where are the students?"
"They're behind," Vinson replied with a shrug. "I came on the Hogwarts Express, just like the students. I don't think I missed the start-of-term feast, did I?"
A flicker of helplessness passed over McGonagall's face, but she quickly composed herself. Presentation mattered, especially in front of new students.
"Professor Vinson," she said in a measured tone, slightly urging, "come inside quickly. The other Professors are already assembled, except for you."
Vinson didn't rush immediately. Instead, he asked casually, "Do you need my help welcoming the new students?"
McGonagall's eyes flicked to his wind-tousled hair, and her lips twitched ever so slightly. "No need, Professor Vinson."
"Very well," he replied and entered the castle.
The Great Hall was a marvel as always. The Professors, along with the Principal, were in their designated spots. Even Professor Quirrell had arrived. Only Vinson had yet to take his seat.
Across the hall, Professor Sprout's eyes met his, and she waved him over with a warm, encouraging smile.
"Professor Vinson, come here," she called softly.
Walking past his colleagues, Vinson felt their eyes linger on him—some curious, some impatient. Naturally, the most impatient gaze belonged to Professor Snape, the Potions Master. Ever since a certain point in his fifth year, Snape had disliked him. The feeling, Vinson admitted, was mutual. Though Snape now appeared aligned with Dumbledore, old grudges lingered.
Vinson ignored the simmering tension and continued to the last seat next to Professor Sprout. She leaned slightly toward him, whispering in disbelief, "It really is you, Vinson. I thought Kettleburn was joking—I didn't expect he'd actually find you to take over his position."
"I didn't expect it myself," Vinson shrugged, "but the Principal trusts me, and I enjoy teaching. Besides, I know a lot about Care of Magical Creatures."
Professor Sprout's smile widened. "I know, but I think you might be more suited to Herbology."
Vinson chuckled softly. "Then you'd be out of a job, Professor. I couldn't let that happen."
During his student years, Vinson had excelled in Herbology. As a proud Hufflepuff, he had always impressed Professor Sprout with his diligence and skill. Snape, sitting nearby, sneered at Vinson's words, though Vinson only returned a sharp glare, choosing not to engage. Snape averted his eyes, clearly disinterested.
Dumbledore clapped his hands, a benevolent smile gracing his face. "Everyone, quiet down. The new students are about to arrive, so maintain elegance and solemnity."
His gaze paused on Vinson. "I think our new Care of Magical Creatures Professor has a unique understanding of his hairstyle."
Only then did Vinson notice the wind had thoroughly tousled his hair. He ran his hands through it hastily.
"I thought this was the latest popular style," Professor Flitwick whispered with a small smile.
As the hall quieted, anticipation hung thick in the air. Vinson settled into his seat, feeling both excitement and nostalgia. The start of another magical year, full of challenges and new faces, was just beginning.
For Vinson, Hogwarts felt both familiar and strange—a place of memories and potential. He watched the empty hall, imagining the chaos soon to arrive with the first-years, the excitement buzzing in the air, the magic ready to unfold.
And for the first time that evening, a sense of belonging washed over him. He was no longer a student. He was a teacher, a guide, a protector of magical creatures, and perhaps, in time, a mentor to a new generation of wizards.
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