Vinson gathered the students in a wide clearing beside the Black Lake, the autumn sun glimmering across the surface of the water. The group of third-years shuffled about, whispering and nudging each other with the restless anticipation that always accompanied a Care of Magical Creatures class.
"Do you think he'll be better than Professor Kettleburn?" one of the Weasley twins muttered to his brother.
"You idiot," the other replied, rolling his eyes so dramatically the nearby students snickered. "We've never even had Kettleburn's class. How would you know?"
"Oh… right. We're only third years."
A heavy silence passed between them before the first twin muttered, "Still could've been a reasonable guess…"
Vinson pretended not to hear the exchange—he had long ago discovered that giving the Weasley twins too much attention only encouraged their antics.
He clapped his hands sharply. "Eyes up front, everyone."
The murmuring faded, replaced by a mixture of curiosity and confusion. Vinson smiled warmly at them.
"Before we begin, I need to remind you of a few important things. First: no one goes near the creature I'm about to summon unless I give explicit permission. Second: wands away. This lesson does not require spellwork, and reckless wand-waving will only create problems—most of them for you."
Though confused, the students obeyed, stuffing their wands into pockets and robes. Vinson nodded in approval.
"Good. Now, remain calm and stay exactly where you are."
He raised two fingers to his mouth and blew a clear, piercing whistle. The note echoed across the lake. Within seconds, the bright morning sky shuddered as if stirred by an unseen hand. Dark clouds rolled in from every direction, swallowing the sunlight and casting the lake into deep shadow.
The giant squid surfaced abruptly, its tentacles slicing through the water as it thrashed in agitation.
A bolt of white lightning cracked open the sky. Thunder followed in a deep, rolling boom that shook the students to their bones.
"Professor!" a startled student shouted. "It's going to rain!"
Before Vinson could answer, a streak of shimmering silver-gold burst through the clouds—a shape utterly out of place against the storm-dark sky. It swooped downward in an elegant arc, wings stretched wide, lightning crackling faintly from its feathers.
The creature landed beside Vinson with surprising gentleness. Four wings folded neatly against its body, and it dipped its head with quiet dignity.
The students froze, eyes wide.
Vinson stroked the creature's long neck fondly. "Can anyone tell me what magical creature this is?"
Thunderbirds were easy to recognize—there was simply nothing else in the magical or non-magical world that possessed two pairs of wings.
A hand shot up. "Thunderbird, Professor!" a Hufflepuff boy called out, voice trembling with excitement.
"Correct. Hufflepuff earns five points. But please raise your hand before shouting next time." He winked cheerfully, quite pleased with himself for rewarding his own House.
Whispers erupted instantly.
"He brought a Thunderbird? A real one?"
"That's a Class XXXXX creature!"
"Is he mad?"
Even those who didn't know much about Thunderbirds certainly knew about dragons. The idea that both creatures shared the same danger classification made the students swallow nervously.
The Weasley twins, stationed at the front of the group, were dangerously close to the creature. One of them—Fred, judging from the mischievous sparkle in his eyes—took a small step forward, clearly enchanted by the magnificent bird.
Hedwig, noticing the movement, tilted her head and gave a soft but warning trill.
Fred stretched out a tentative hand.
A crack like a miniature thunderclap split the air.
A flash of blue-white lightning struck the ground a hair's breadth from Fred's boot, leaving behind a smoldering scorch mark.
"Merlin's beard!" Fred yelped, stumbling backward and landing hard on his backside.
The class burst into screams and hurriedly stepped away.
Vinson arched a brow, utterly composed. "Very well done, Mr. Weasley. It appears you completely ignored the instructions I gave moments ago. What you just experienced was Hedwig's warning."
Fred, pale as parchment, stared at the Thunderbird with newfound respect—bordering on terror.
Of course, Vinson had made sure the lightning was harmless. Had the strike been real, his career—and possibly Hogwarts itself—would have been in jeopardy.
He let the tension settle before speaking again. "Thunderbirds are remarkably sensitive to emotions. If you want to approach one, you must rid yourself of all malice—intentional or accidental. This is true for many magical creatures. They do not simply sense thoughts. They sense heartbeats, breath, posture… everything."
A tall Hufflepuff boy raised his hand timidly. "Professor? How do we… control something like that?"
Vinson's eyes lit up. "An excellent question. What's your name, mister?"
"Cedric Diggory, Professor."
"Well then, Mr. Diggory," Vinson said, exceptionally pleased, "would you step forward for a demonstration?"
Cedric obeyed, though his steps were stiff with nerves. Standing between Vinson and Hedwig, he tried to appear calm, but his hands trembled slightly.
Vinson placed a reassuring hand on Cedric's shoulder. "Listen carefully. Malice isn't limited to intent. It includes fear, tension, hesitation—anything that signals threat. Thunderbirds like Hedwig detect all of it. If your heart races too quickly or your breathing is too sharp, she'll know."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a Honeydukes nougat he had—let's say—permanently 'borrowed' from Dumbledore's office. He placed it gently in Cedric's hand.
"Your task: convince Hedwig to take this candy from you."
Cedric swallowed visibly.
He believed the professor wouldn't put him in real danger, but the memory of the lightning bolt that had nearly singed Fred's toes was still very fresh.
Vinson admired Cedric. Brave, fair, hardworking—qualities any professor would value. The thought of Cedric's canonical fate scratched unpleasantly at his mind.
Focus, he reminded himself.
Cedric stepped toward Hedwig. He held out the nougat with trembling fingers, drawing a slow breath to steady himself. Hedwig regarded him curiously, four wings shifting slightly.
"Steady breaths, Mr. Diggory," Vinson coached softly. "Slow your heartbeat. Your intentions must be sincere. Magical creatures can read honesty better than humans can."
Cedric exhaled again, this time more controlled. The trembling eased. Hedwig clicked her beak and lowered her head a fraction. Encouraged by the gentle response, Cedric inched closer, keeping his hand extended.
The students watched in breathless anticipation.
Hedwig studied the nougat for a long moment. Then—very slowly—she stepped forward, her talons pressing into the earth with surprising delicacy. She leaned in and nudged Cedric's palm, brushing her beak against the candy.
Cedric froze.
Then Hedwig opened her beak and took the nougat with the grace of a creature accepting a sacred offering.
The clearing erupted in cheers.
Cedric turned back toward Vinson, face bright with pride and astonishment.
Vinson smiled broadly. "Excellent work, Mr. Diggory. Hufflepuff earns ten more points. That was the calmest approach I've seen from a third-year in quite some time."
Cedric beamed, cheeks flushed.
Vinson addressed the rest of the class. "This is the essence of working with magical creatures. Respect, sincerity, and emotional awareness. If you master those, even creatures as formidable as a Thunderbird will respond to you."
Hedwig raised her head proudly, lightning flickering faintly between her feathers as though punctuating Vinson's words.
"And now," Vinson continued, "who would like to try next—preferably someone who understands the meaning of caution?"
Nearly every hand shot into the air—including Fred's, though George smacked his arm down immediately.
Vinson chuckled.
It was going to be an entertaining class.
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