As the last student was finally sorted into their House, the Sorting Ceremony drew to a close. The chatter in the Great Hall gradually settled down when Dumbledore rose from his seat. Facing the rows of students, he lifted his hands gently, signaling everyone to quiet.
"Welcome to Hogwarts!" he announced with a warm smile, adjusting his half-moon spectacles as they slid slightly down his nose. "Before we enjoy our delicious feast, I have a few announcements."
The hall grew still, the clinking and shuffling fading away as the students focused their attention on the Headmaster.
"This year, there will be a slight change in our professorial lineup," Dumbledore continued. His gaze swept across the long teachers' table before stopping on Quirrell. "Professor Quirinus Quirrell will be our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."
Quirrell rose shakily, nodding politely to the hall before sitting again. The enormous purple turban wound around his head was impossible to ignore. Harry immediately recognized him as the nervous man he had met earlier that summer at the Leaky Cauldron.
"Huh… I hope Professor Quirrell isn't too unlucky," a Gryffindor next to Harry muttered under his breath.
But Harry wasn't really paying attention to Quirrell anymore. His eyes kept drifting toward another person seated further down the staff table—Professor Vinson.
If Quirrell was now the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher… then, Harry thought, that meant—
His suspicions were confirmed in the very next moment.
"And Professor Kettleburn, who taught Care of Magical Creatures for many years, will be retiring this term," Dumbledore continued. "He will be replaced by Professor Adrian Vinson."
Even though Harry had predicted this exactly, hearing Dumbledore officially announce it still sent a jolt of surprise through him. He had not expected the friendly shopkeeper he frequently visited during the summer to suddenly appear here, at Hogwarts, seated among the staff.
"What are you grinning about?" Ron whispered, nudging Harry in the ribs. "Of course you're happy! You got sorted into Gryffindor!"
Harry blinked, snapped out of his thoughts, and quickly straightened his expression.
Meanwhile, Professor Vinson had stood up to acknowledge the applause. He smiled politely, lifting a hand in greeting—but was promptly startled by a sudden flurry of noise rising from the Hufflepuff table.
"Professor Adrian Vinson? Is that the one—?"
"It must be! I've seen his picture—looks exactly like him! And the name matches!"
A wave of applause and excited cheers spread across the Hufflepuffs, especially from the younger students who seemed almost oddly enthusiastic.
"…?"
Vinson froze for a moment, puzzled. What did he do? Why were they reacting like this? He glanced down at the gleaming tabletop, staring at his reflection. His hair wasn't messy or strange. His robes were perfectly normal.
He truly couldn't understand it.
Professor Sprout, noticing his confused expression, chuckled. "You were quite popular when you were a student, Professor Vinson. The older Hufflepuffs certainly remember you, and even some of the new ones have heard stories."
If anything, that made Vinson look even more bewildered.
Popular? Him?
In his own memory, he had been a background figure at best—quiet, unremarkable, the type of student who blended easily into the crowd. And even if he really had been popular, six years had passed. Surely the students who once knew him had already graduated.
Nothing about the situation made sense.
After the introductions, Dumbledore raised his arms again. "Before the feast begins, I would like to say a few more words. And they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"
The students laughed lightly at the familiar eccentricity, and with that, the feast appeared. The empty golden plates instantly filled with all manners of delicious food.
In front of Vinson, however, the assortment was… questionable.
Boiled potatoes. Roasted potatoes. Fried potatoes. Potato wedges. Mashed potatoes. Potato chips.
He stared at the spread in silence.
"…."
The fork in his hand froze mid-air. He did like potatoes, certainly—but not this many.
Fortunately, Professor Sprout—seemingly accustomed to his situation—kindly slid her plate of roast beef toward him in exchange for his boiled potatoes. Vinson gratefully accepted the rescue.
As he finally began to eat, Professor Flitwick, seated on his other side, happened to glance toward the Gryffindor table. His eyebrows furrowed, and he looked back at Vinson.
"Why is Harry Potter staring at you, Professor Vinson?" he asked curiously. "Does the boy know you?"
Professor Sprout, who had also noticed Harry's persistent gaze, turned her head as well. "Yes, he keeps looking over here. Is there some connection?"
Vinson didn't consider this a secret, so he answered casually.
"I live near his home," he said with a shrug. "Harry often comes to the shop I opened. I put a Muggle-Repelling Charm on the place, you know, so when he walked in, I immediately knew he must be a wizard. Of course, I had no idea he was the Harry Potter at the time."
Understanding dawned on the two professors, and they nodded.
"Oh, that explains it," Sprout said warmly. "No wonder the boy seems familiar with you."
Their voices weren't especially quiet, and their words captured Dumbledore's attention as well. He leaned slightly forward, his eyes twinkling with interest.
"You never mentioned this to me, Professor Vinson," Dumbledore said with a gentle smile.
That caught Vinson off guard. He had assumed Dumbledore already knew about Harry approaching him during the summer. Considering how important Harry was to the Headmaster, it felt natural to assume Dumbledore monitored the boy's surroundings.
But then, Vinson reconsidered.
If Dumbledore truly kept close watch over Harry, would he have allowed the boy to live the way the Dursleys treated him? Vinson doubted it. If Dumbledore had witnessed Harry's miserable situation even once, he would surely have intervened.
"Harry and I just have a bit of history," Vinson replied lightly. "It's a long story, but in short—pure coincidence. I simply lived near his house."
Dumbledore's blue eyes narrowed slightly behind his glasses. He tapped his fingers on the table, deep in thought. The look made Vinson mildly uncomfortable.
But his discomfort wasn't solely because of Dumbledore.
He sensed another intense gaze directed at him.
Snape.
Ever since Professor Flitwick had spoken Harry Potter's name, Snape's sharp, dark eyes had been fixed steadily on Vinson. If anyone in the faculty reacted strongly to Harry's name, it was definitely Snape.
And Vinson knew very well why.
"…."
He told himself not to dwell on it. He disliked sad stories; they weighed too heavily on the mind. And although he sympathized deeply with Snape's past, that didn't necessarily change his personal dislike of the man.
So Vinson simply pretended not to see Snape staring.
Stare all you want, he thought silently. If I look back, I lose.
Across the table, Professor Sprout leaned forward with interest. "Speaking of which, what kind of child is Harry Potter? You've interacted with him before, haven't you?"
It was clear that not only students but even the professors were curious about the so-called "Boy Who Lived." The legend surrounding Harry Potter preceded him, and the staff, though professional, were not immune to curiosity.
Vinson exhaled softly. This dinner, he suspected, was going to become far more complicated than he had anticipated.
FOR MORE CHAPTERS
patreon.com/STEPHENHART427