It was Friday, and for Harry, life at Hogwarts was becoming more and more fulfilling. At first, he had been worried that he would fall behind the other students. Before meeting Vinson, after all, he had known absolutely nothing about magic. But after attending a few classes, he realized he wasn't at much of a disadvantage. Even many students from wizarding families had received very little formal magical education before starting school. As for those like him, raised in the Muggle world, the situation was similar—everyone was starting almost from zero.
In fact, Harry soon discovered that in some classes he was quite ahead. But he didn't let that make him proud. There were plenty of students who, despite encountering magic for the first time, performed better than he did. Hermione Granger—the girl he met on the train—was one of them. She had successfully cast the Levitation Charm during their very first Charms lesson, and both her wand movements and pronunciation had been far more precise than his. Harry had needed half a day of practice just to make a single feather wobble slightly above the table, and that was after receiving extra guidance from Vinson.
It was the same story in Herbology and Transfiguration. Hermione always seemed prepared, capable, and confident.
She's really smart, Harry thought more than once.
He had expected at least to excel in Potions, since Vinson had taught him far more potion theory than any first-year could possibly know. But then he met Professor Snape…
Harry was still thinking about all this when he arrived at Hagrid's hut. He had received a handwritten invitation earlier that week—Hagrid wanted him to come over for tea. Harry had mentioned it to Ron, and Ron had eagerly tagged along.
Harry raised his hand and knocked gently on the wooden door. Heavy footsteps thudded inside, and the door swung open to reveal Hagrid's huge figure towering over them.
"Come in quickly, Harry!" Hagrid boomed, his thick beard trembling as he grinned. His eyes shifted to Ron. "And another Weasley, am I right?"
Ron nodded somewhat shyly.
Hagrid's hut consisted of a single room. Although not very large, the place felt warm and comforting. A large bed stood in one corner, and beside it sat an oversized wooden table with matching chairs. On the table were teacups and a large plate of rock-hard biscuits—at least, Harry hoped they were biscuits.
What Harry hadn't expected was that someone was already sitting inside.
"Teacher!" Harry exclaimed, surprised to see Vinson occupying one of the huge chairs.
Vinson was staring down at the rock cake in his hand, attempting to grind its surface with his teeth. Unfortunately, the biscuit seemed to possess the resilience of magically reinforced stone. After several determined tries, all he had managed to do was scrape off a bit of powder. When he heard Harry's voice, he raised his head and gave a stiff smile.
"Oh, Harry, you're here," he said, sounding relieved. "And Mr. Weasley as well."
"Hello, Professor," Ron said softly, unable to stop himself from glancing at the object in Vinson's hand.
Vinson sighed, casually passed Ron the unbitten rock cake, and—taking advantage of Hagrid turning around to fetch the teapot—slipped his own half-bitten one under the table and into Fang's mouth.
Moments later, Hagrid returned with a steaming teapot. "Quick, sit down! I just brewed a fresh pot. It's the tea leaves Professor Vinson brought! And go on—take some biscuits!"
Everyone politely pretended not to hear the invitation to sample the biscuits as Hagrid poured tea for each of them. With the chair taken, Harry and Ron sat on the edge of Hagrid's massive bed.
"Teacher," Harry asked, "why are you here today?"
Vinson lifted his teacup, blew gently on it, and replied, "Hagrid invited me over. He's been eager for news about Torch."
"Who wouldn't love Torch?" Hagrid said with an envious sigh. "Ah, that little darling…"
In truth, Hagrid had written to Vinson almost every few days over the summer, always asking about Torch.
Ron, who had been listening quietly, frowned slightly. He nudged Harry and whispered, "Torch? What's that?"
Harry leaned closer. "A baby dragon."
Ron's jaw dropped so dramatically that Harry thought he might actually fit one of the rock cakes inside it.
Harry chuckled. "Professor Vinson has a dragon at home. We can visit it during the holidays."
Ron looked absolutely stunned. Raising a dragon? As casually as raising a dog? Was Harry completely misunderstanding how dangerous dragons were?
Vinson took a sip of tea before continuing, "Torch is growing quickly. Lupin has been taking care of him. He still can't fly or breathe fire, but his scales have strengthened a lot, and his appetite has doubled."
Hagrid's eyes sparkled. "Wonderful! He must be magnificent!"
The conversation drifted pleasantly from dragons to many other topics—why the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Quirrell, smelled like garlic; how Vinson's first class had gone; and why Filch seemed to take personal joy in catching students doing absolutely anything.
Eventually, Harry brought up the thing that had been bothering him most.
"Hagrid," he said, interrupting a loud laugh from the half-giant, "I wanted to ask about Potions class…"
Hagrid immediately turned, looking nervous. "Did something happen? Did you get into trouble?"
Harry shook his head but frowned. "I just feel like Professor Snape really dislikes me. He kept asking me questions in class. I actually knew most of the answers, but he didn't give me any points. Instead, he deducted points for all sorts of reasons."
Hagrid shifted uncomfortably and stroked his beard. "Ah… well… Snape's like that. Very strict with students, he is."
"But he's not strict with Slytherins," Ron muttered.
Vinson perked up. "What did he ask you?"
Harry thought for a moment. "First: what you get when you add powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood."
"Draught of Living Death," Vinson responded instantly. "I taught you that."
"Then he asked where to find bezoars, and the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane," Harry continued. "I answered everything—and I even listed several types of aconite. But he still deducted a point."
Vinson stared at him for a long moment, then let out a breath through his nose, clearly imagining Snape's expression.
It must have been priceless
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