As Vinson had expected, the Thunderbird was instantly fond of the newly arrived strike-struck tree. Even more unexpectedly, the young bird showed no fear or unfamiliarity toward Vinson himself. It treated him as naturally as a Crup would treat its owner of many years—something that left Vinson both amused and slightly touched.
Lupin, however, was an entirely different story. Whenever he approached, the Thunderbird would fluff up its feathers and fix its bright, wary eyes on him. Lupin could only stand there helplessly, unsure how he had offended the creature.
It didn't take long before the Thunderbird built a nest on a thick branch of the strike-struck tree. Whenever it wished to play, the enchanted tree would conjure small thunderstorms, sending flickers of lightning across the air. The Thunderbird tore through them joyfully, diving and spinning as if it were dancing among the clouds.
Vinson stood nearby watching, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
The weather the Thunderbird created was wonderful for the bird—but undeniably troublesome for the surrounding environment. All afternoon, Vinson's plantation alternated between wind, rain, and rolling thunder.
Fortunately, all his plants and medicinal herbs were grown safely inside greenhouses, well protected from the chaotic weather.
After settling the Thunderbird into its new habitat, Vinson turned to a more pressing concern: how to obtain the Headmaster's permission to let students observe the creature.
Thunderbirds were a protected species, after all—classified by the Ministry of Magic as XXXXX, the highest danger rating. Even though this one was still young, it undoubtedly carried great potential risk.
"How should I convince him?" Vinson murmured to himself.
The next morning, in the Headmaster's office, a steaming cup of coffee sat on the desk beside a plate stacked with golden honey nougat. Dumbledore, as was his habit, was leisurely reviewing the piles of letters sent to him from all parts of the wizarding world. The famous headmaster received far more letters than one person could reasonably answer, so he usually skimmed through and replied to only a portion each day.
It was a familiar routine—yet today something felt off.
Dumbledore paused mid-sentence, lowering the letter in his hand as his eyebrows drew together. He swept his gaze around the spacious office, and his eyes naturally drifted to the large wooden perch in the corner.
It was empty.
"…Fawkes?" he called gently.
He scanned the fireplace, the bookshelves, the tall windows—yet the phoenix was nowhere to be seen.
Dumbledore set aside the letter and stood. Fawkes was no ordinary bird. He rarely vanished without reason and never stayed away for long.
The Headmaster walked to the window and pushed it open. A gust of cold wind carrying fine rain brushed against his face.
"Fawkes doesn't like weather like this," he said softly.
Just then, a streak of red flashed across the distant sky.
A faint, warm smile appeared on Dumbledore's face.
Fawkes landed gracefully on the windowsill. As Dumbledore reached out and helped smooth his feathers, he began talking to the phoenix as though speaking with an old friend.
"Where have you gone today, Fawkes?"
"Oh? Visiting a new friend, were you? You didn't mention that to me."
"And who might this new friend be?"
"A large white bird…? My, that sounds interesting. Where is it now?"
"…Already here?"
Dumbledore looked back out the window. In the misty rain, a pale white shape approached.
"That is…"
As it drew closer, the creature's outline became distinct: two pairs of wings, one large and one small—the unmistakable sign of a Thunderbird.
"You've chosen quite an extraordinary friend, my boy," Dumbledore murmured to the phoenix.
An hour later, Vinson stepped into the office.
As soon as he entered, he spotted the young Thunderbird perched comfortably beside Fawkes. Dumbledore was behind his desk, still reviewing letters.
The Thunderbird chirped softly when it noticed Vinson, as if greeting him.
"Fawkes has generously shared his perch with his new companion," Dumbledore said with a smile. "Please, Professor Vinson, have a seat. I believe you can answer a few of my questions."
Vinson sat obediently. A freshly poured cup of coffee drifted toward him.
Dumbledore set aside the letter he had been reading and cast a gentle glance toward the Thunderbird.
"This must be your bird, correct?" he asked. "What is its name?"
Vinson hesitated for a moment.
"It… doesn't have an official name yet."
Dumbledore raised his brows slightly. "You would be wise to choose one soon. For magical creatures of great power, names matter. A name is a bond—if the creature accepts it, it will be willing to form a deeper connection with you."
"Is a name truly that important, Professor?" Vinson asked, noting Dumbledore's serious expression.
"A name is a kind of magic," Dumbledore replied, adjusting his half-moon spectacles. "Just as with wizards. For instance—the one whose name must not be spoken."
Vinson immediately understood. Voldemort's name carried magic; speaking it allowed him to sense the one who uttered it. That was why most wizards used You-Know-Who instead.
And, Vinson realized, Roskin had never told him the Thunderbird's original name—likely leaving the responsibility intentionally for him to decide.
"I understand, Professor," Vinson said, nodding. "I'll give the matter serious thought."
He glanced toward the Thunderbird, which chirped proudly beside Fawkes.
"All right, Vinson," Dumbledore said, clapping his hands lightly. "We'll set the naming matter aside for now. What I am more curious about is where you acquired the Thunderbird. Thunderbirds are extremely rare in Europe."
"In fact, they're rare everywhere," Vinson replied. He beckoned the young bird, and it hopped to him immediately, rubbing affectionately against his arm.
"A friend of mine recently made certain breakthroughs in breeding Thunderbirds," Vinson said. "And this little one is the result."
Dumbledore paused, thoughtful. Then his eyes brightened with recollection.
"The Possibility of Artificially Breeding Thunderbirds—wasn't that the title of your earlier paper?"
"You've actually read it?" Vinson said, surprised. "I'm honored."
"The most important thing for a wizard is to keep learning," Dumbledore said as he stood, giving Vinson a playful wink. "Isn't that what you once told me?"
Vinson flushed and scratched his head. He had indeed said that to Dumbledore upon graduating. Looking back now, it felt embarrassingly bold—especially considering who he had said it to.
After all, the man before him was Albus Dumbledore.
FOR MORE CHAPTERS
patreon.com/STEPHENHART427